Slipstream: Resurrection
by MyBlueOblivion
Summary: They say that nightmares can't really hurt you, that they are nothing more than dreams. But every once in a while, something jumps out of the shadows and bites... Rodimus Prime must face a very real nightmare from Optimus Prime's past. Will he survive?
1. Prologue

Slipstream: Resurrection

Prologue

Fullbarrel hated his job.

It wasn't just that it was, for the most part, far duller than anything else he had ever done. Tending to the vast, semi-sentient power generators that fed Iacon City and her surrounding districts, and making sure that the temperamental machines did their job properly, was never going to be described as exciting, in and of itself. Sure, there was always the off-chance of a Decepticon attack; but there were far bigger, more tempting targets for the 'Cons to go for, and so excitement never really found it's way to the Axalon regional sub-station.

Fullbarrel couldn't even say that it was the company that was getting to him, or at least, not directly. On the night shift, when most of Iacon was in recharge, and power drain was at an absolute minimum, there were only ever minimal amounts of personnel at the sub-station. For the most part, the only time Fullbarrel ever saw the others was when they dropped into the control hub to pick up parts for repairs and maintenance, or when one of the workers decided to have their break at the hub rather than out wherever their current task had taken them. If anything, Fullbarrel quite enjoyed being his own boss, and having the peace and quiet.

What really got to him, the thing that he hated most, was that when something went wrong, it was almost always when no-one else was around to help. And it was never anything small, on those occasions. Oh, no, it was almost always something big, and difficult, and often quite dangerous. It didn't happen often, and yet it was often enough to grate on his nerves. And if the report sitting in front of him was anything to go by, tonight was going to be one of those nights.

He scanned the small data-pad in his hand once more, and fought to hold back an involuntary grimace. Cybertron had never been a world that suffered with what you could call 'weather', but when it did, it tended to be rather spectacular. One such event, a localised ion-storm that had been working its way across the northern hemisphere for a few days, was heading toward the sub-station with increasing speed. In ordinary circumstances, an ion-storm of this class wasn't a threat, little more than a solar-powered light show; when a set of older power generators were involved, though, it was an entirely different story. It would play havoc with the station's systems, and could even cause a dangerous power shift in the transfer lines. In short, it wasn't going to be fun.

Worryingly, the storm had actually changed direction, almost as though it was deliberately aiming for the power plant. That in itself had given Fullbarrel a bad feeling, like an ill omen. To make matters worse, his two companions for this shift had been called away, leaving Fullbarrel to deal with the rapidly approaching solar event on his own. The storm would reach the outskirts of the generator farm inside the next two hours, and if the lines and generators weren't checked, and the emergency circuit breakers primed, then all Pit could well break loose. With a sigh from deep within his vocaliser, Fullbarrel put down the pad, slipped a few tools into his subspace pockets, and left the control hub.

O o O o O

Fullbarrel had just finished checking over the transfer cables on the last generator when the storm hit. The Cybertronian sky had changed colour over the last twenty minutes, the deep, starlit black slowly being obscured by a poisonous green cloud-front. The swirling mass of ionised gases and pulsing electrons throbbed with potential, charged by the rays of the nearby sun, occasionally bursting out into violent clashes of purplish energon-lightning. Even before it reached him, the magnetic effects of the storm began to make Fullbarrel feel uneasy.

He watched the storm approach, mesmerised, taking in the vivid, nauseating vista. He knew that the storm posed little threat to him, other than messing about with a few of his lesser systems, so he could afford to take a moment to stare; he had never seen one of these up close, and morbid curiosity gripped him. As the energon in the atmosphere began to build, he began to feel the pressure build-up within his body. Warning lights lit up in his internal display, and he felt a familiar tingling sensation building in his extremities and along his spinal column. It was a little like standing in an unshielded power core chamber, he mused.

Fullbarrel was just about to transform and leave the area, convinced that he had done his job to the best of his ability, when he heard it. At first, he just assumed that he was hearing things. A quick local scan confirmed that he was alone; it should have been impossible for him to hear any sound other than the storm and his own movements. Thunder rumbled overhead, and lightning flashed, throwing the Autobot's surroundings into stark relief, and causing him to jump, startled. This convinced him that he was just imagining things, that it was just the storm affecting his audio systems.

Then he heard it again, and he couldn't deny it a second time. He had heard laughter on the steadily growing wind, high and faint against the storm. Fullbarrel span on the spot, searching for a source, but found none. It was growing dark, and the power plant's emergency lighting had begun to kick in, bathing the long corridors between the generators in sickly phosphorescent light, and adding to the eerie atmosphere.

"Hello?" Fullbarrel called, his voice echoing in the confined space. No-one replied. Fullbarrel walked slowly to a cross-over junction, and climbed the steps up to the gantry that let maintenance crews cross between ranks of generator turbines, without walking all the way to the end of the row. He reached out with his sensors, but could detect nothing. The fact that the storm was interfering with those same sensors did nothing to ease his nerves.

Slowly, cautiously, Fullbarrel walked down the gantry, looking left and right down the long alleyways between the generators. Around him, the thick, crackling clouds of the ion-storm slowly enveloped him, thick tendrils of greenish smoke clawing at him and his surroundings as though searching for something. Thoughts of running for cover, of finding a way out and heading for the safety of the office, warred with the desire to keep searching. If someone was here, they could be in danger. The thought that the intruder might be a threat crossed his mind, but Fullbarrel had served a little time in the military, and felt he could handle himself if necessary.

He was just about to give the whole thing up for a lost cause, when he heard the laughter again. It was closer this time, and clearer, despite the interference caused by the all-enclosing cloud mass. It was not a pleasant sound, but cold and piercing, hollow even. It spoke of pain, malice, and not a little insanity. Fullbarrel decided that he had never heard a more evil sound. It tore through his processor, sending chills through his systems. He started to turn slowly, optics attempting to see through the sickly miasma of the storm. Nothing, not a single living being could be seen, but that didn't mean a thing. He looked up again, turning to face his original direction. And found himself face to face with a nightmare.

A fanged, leering face was staring at him, formed out of the mist. The horrible visage faded an instant later, leaving nothing behind but faint laughter and a sensation of fear coursing through Fullbarrel's systems. Terrified, his nerve hitched up its skirts and ran, and a moment later Fullbarrel followed suit. He bolted for the nearest gantry exit, running down the stairs two at a time. In his haste to escape, he tripped, falling down the last few stairs and landing hard. He had a brief glimpse of the gantry from below, just in time for it to be lit from behind by a flash of lightning. He felt his spark leap in his chest as, for a brief instant, the energon flash highlighted the silhouette of a hunched figure standing on the walkway.

The image vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Fullbarrel was up on his feet in an instant, and running at full speed for the exit of the compound. The laughter came back, snapping at his heels and haunting his movements, echoing at awkward angles from the high, curved walls of the rust-orange turbine housings. As the end of the corridor came hazily into view, the storm flared into life once more, and to Fullbarrel's horror the harsh light of the lightning once more showed the shadowy form of his tormentor. Only this time, the shape came into view in front of him, not twenty metres distant.

"What are you?" He hissed, his voice shaking, then rising in panic as he scrambled to a halt. "What in Primus' name _are _you?"

The only answer was more laughter, mirthless and cruel. Fullbarrel began to back up slowly, as a vaguely humanoid shape began to coalesce out of the mist. It slid toward him, a wraith gliding silently through the clouds, and the voice behind the laughter changed. It became deeper, more vicious, cruel intent showing through every note. As it swept around him, circling like a predator would its prey, Fullbarrel backed away, until he felt his back come into contact with the wall of one of the turbines.

"What in the Pit _are _you? Answer me!" he yelled, panic flooding his voice, making it crack harshly.

The wraith stopped for a moment, a vague image of a winged Transformer briefly coiling from the smoke that formed the creature. The being smiled cruelly, sharp fangs showing within it's mouth, before the image became insubstantial once more. The storm-creature leered at him like this for long moments, slowly drifting toward him, silent as the grave. Fullbarrel pushed himself further back, beginning to curl in on himself, wishing furiously that this nightmare would end. When the creature had moved to just a few feet away from Fullbarrel, it spoke.

"Hello, little thing," the voice hissed, low and quiet. The ethereal face moved closer still, until it filled Fullbarrel's entire view. Petrified, he found he could no longer move.

"My name is Slipstream," it said. "And you, little morsel, are quite, _quite_, dead..."

* * *

Author's Notes: Well, here it is! Slipstream gets his own sequel at last. I can only hope that this works out as well as the original story. More coming soon...

Thanks very much for reading. Please review, I'd love to know what you all think. Also, if you haven't read Slipstream's first outing, _Slipstream: Chronicles_, go give it a look, if you have the time. It will help all of this to make a little more sense, I hope! Both this story and it's predecessor tie in with _Savior_, by Shockbox, one of my small collection of fanfic sisters, and a talented writer in her own right. Go take a look-see! Slipstream goes Beast Wars... need I say more?

Disclaimer: This will go for the whole story, to save me repeating myself. I do not own Transformers, or any of it's associated characters; I make no claim that I do, and I certainly don't earn anything (other than a sense of deep satisfaction) for writing this. Slipstream is all mine, for my sins. And his lines here were definitely inspired by Dan Abnett's character Cherubael, from his _Eisenhorn_ trilogy. Also, any other characters that aren't recognisable as canon will most likely be mine, unless noted to the contrary. There, I think that just about covers it. On with the story!


	2. Storm Rising

Slipstream: Resurrection

Chapter One

Storm Rising

Rodimus Prime relished moments like this; quiet moments, when the work load that went with his position was all but dealt with, when Autobot Central Command was quiet... or as quiet as it ever got, anyway. Moments when he could simply stop to think, or enjoy the view from his office window; moments when he could almost pretend that the weight of Cybertron didn't rest squarely upon his shoulders. It had been far too long since he had enjoyed a few minutes to himself, with nothing at all to do. The humans called it 'having space to breathe'. While breathing for him was a very different affair than it was for humans, he could appreciate the sentiment.

Staring out over the shimmering lights of the Iacon landscape, Rodimus placed one hand against the armacrys window and sighed. It had been a hectic few days for everyone at ACC, Prime especially so. Reports had been flooding in from some of the outlying colonies of Decepticon activity; the outposts on Tygris Pax and Oceanis had suffered the worst, with the 'Cons making raids on some of the smaller settlements. Strangely, some of the skirmishes had been between clashing forces of Decepticons; it appeared that Galvatron was having trouble keeping his troops in line. Rodimus had sent out a strike team to deal with the problem, and was now waiting for a report back from the team leaders.

On top of that, the command centre had suffered a break in its power supply two days previously. In itself, the incident didn't sound like much of a problem; the ACC was the size of a small city in its own right, and had enough emergency generators and alternate energon feeds to ensure that it remained functional, even under a sustained attack or siege. The trouble was, the defence systems that protected the place were designed with just such an attack in mind. The power disruption was wide-spread enough that some of those systems were activated, the command centre had locked down, and it had taken literally hours before the protocols that had been responsible could be neutralised.

The source had turned out to be a generator sub-station in the Axalon district of Iacon; an ion storm had damaged some of the control systems there, causing it to overload three more nearby sub-stations, as well as causing a dangerous amount of feedback at the main generator plant. Half of Iacon had suffered as a result, everything from lighting and computer systems, to hospitals and factories, being affected. It had been just one more problem, one more fire to put out, and it had become yet another solid reminder for Rodimus that the role of Prime was not an easy one.

He missed the simplicity of being just an average soldier, of being on the front lines, only needing to think about his next set of orders, the next mission. No decisions, next to no responsibility... simpler times. At the same time, he was glad, in a way, that the Matrix had chosen him to be Optimus Prime's successor. He had always wanted the chance to show his worth, to have the chance to help his people, and being Prime had given him just that. Having his downtime reduced to a handful of rare, scattered moments like this, was a price he was willing to pay.

A polite chime interrupted Prime's thoughts, and he turned away from the window with another deep sigh. He covered the distance to his desk in a few short strides, and a cursory glance at the monitor there told him that Kup was standing outside. The time index on the screen told Prime that he had been daydreaming for longer than he had thought; it was already time for his daily security briefing, and Kup, as usual, was right on time. Prime keyed a control, and opened the office door.

"I didn't catch you recharging, did I, son?" Kup smiled warmly as he entered the office, and the two friends clasped hands briefly, before moving to an informal seating area in one corner of the room. "You look tired."

"We all do," Rodimus said, smiling in return. "It's been a long couple of days. How are the system repairs coming?"

"They're pretty much done. Wheeljack has re-wired and reprogrammed the offending systems, given them smarter software, and even upgraded some of the defences. The whole thing looks a petro-rabbit warren after an earthquake, but he says it'll work."

"Excellent," Prime said, smiling at Kup's turn of phrase. "How about the city repairs?"

"That's where things get a little interesting," Kup said after a moment, before handing Prime a data-slate. The older mech sat back in his chair, and waited as his friend skimmed through the report file.

"A missing person's report?" Prime asked, looking up incredulously. "That's a job for civilian law enforcement. We're hearing about it... why, exactly?"

"Keep reading," Kup answered simply, gesturing at the slate. "Paragraph five." Prime scanned down the page once more, and slowly his optics widened. His expression was confused as he looked back at Kup.

"Now that _is _interesting," he said. "First the generator station is damaged, then one of the crew goes missing... it sounds like too much of a coincidence to not be connected. Do you think he was responsible for the damage, instead of the storm?"

"Who knows?" Kup said, his own expression becoming dour. "He might be responsible... a Decepticon sympathiser, perhaps. Maybe someone else damaged the plant, was disturbed by this Fullbarrel, and got rid of him; it could be connected to these Decepticon attacks we've been hearing about. Or maybe he just happened to disappear after the storm did the damage, and it is just a coincidence. Jazz is already working on it with the enforcers, but I thought you might like a look. I know how much you like a mystery."

"True," Rodimus replied, looking cheerier than he had in days. "And this looks like just the thing..."

O o O o O

Slipstream couldn't decide which sensation he hated more: being trapped in this weak, lumpen shell, or being trapped in that storm without a body at all.

He had hated being formless, nothing more than a ghost. He had longed for physicality, for touch, taste and smell...for the thrill of the hunt. After Optimus Prime had destroyed his body, it had been months before he had even realised that he was still aware. He couldn't understand how he had survived; the spark dies with the body, everyone knew that. But he had survived... whether through some freak of nature, some change that was part of his vampiric heritage, or just through sheer force of will, he had survived.

He had woken in the depths of space, shapeless and hollow, and so very weak. Had it not been for a passing Daranite freighter, he might still have been out there. He had been caught up by the electromagnetic fields of their main drives as they had passed him, pulling him into the ship by complete accident. He had spent the next six months watching the crew, learning about his new hosts, and learning about his new condition at the same time. The Daranites were frail, organic creatures, and held little interest for him, so he spent much of his time moving in and out of the ship's various systems. And it had been at about that time that Slipstream had discovered something.

In his new, incorporeal form, Slipstream found he could enter the mechanical parts of the ship, especially the on-board computer, and could draw strength from them. It had been an accident at first, but he had quickly discovered that he could exert some small control over his surroundings, and with practice he could bend the computer systems to his will entirely. The Daranite merchants had discovered his presence at around the same time, mainly due to his more overt moments of control. They had assumed him to be some form of errant code, maybe even a virus, and had tried to purge the computer of his presence.

Slipstream shuddered at the memory. How dare they, weak, inefficient, _disgusting_ organo-germs that they were, try to destroy _him_. They were nothing to him, less than nothing... and he had taught them the error of their ways. He had left the computer for a while, let them have their shallow victory. Then, when they had least expected it, he had re-entered, and had taken over the enviromental systems. Their fear was palpable, almost a living thing, as he vented the ship's atmosphere to the void, and as he fancied that he could almost taste their terror, it had made him feel alive, whole again... if only for a little while.

He had stayed with the freighter, alone, for nearly five years. He had simply wandered the space lanes, moving aimlessly until the ship ran out of fuel. He had tried calling for help, trying to get the attention of anyone that passed in the hopes of finding a new ship he could control, or even use as a ferry to an inhabited world, but had received no response. In time, the ship ran down its last reserves of power, and he was left totally alone, dead in space. Then the storm had come, and everything had changed again. He had been pulled into its magnetic field, ripped forcefully from his ship, and had been forced to start the process of learning how to control his surroundings all over again.

When he had first spotted Cybertron from space, it had seemed like a gift from Primus. Now, he really wasn't sure what he was going to do here...

Being forced to use his current host was, in its own way, even worse. True, he had a physical form again. He could truly revel in being whole, and every nuance of sensation that went with it. And oh, but how he had missed it... On the downside, however, this body was nothing when compared with his old body. It lacked its power, its speed, its _grace_... Slipstream missed his augmented vision, his former strength. There was nothing he could do, for now, but it still upset him.

Then, there was the recurrent problem of having to constantly fight down the original owner of his current home. Fullbarrel was far stronger willed than Slipstream had first given him credit for, and even now he could feel the Autobot beating at the bonds within his own processor, screaming for control. The noise, frankly, was verging on becoming more than an irritant. On top of that, Slipstream was becoming increasingly aware of his host's limitations. He would need energon, soon, and after that he would need to recharge.

Slipstream had been wandering the dark alleyways and corridors that made up the lower tiers of Iacon City for what felt like an age. In reality, it had only been six solar cycles. He was exhausted, grimy from too long without proper maintenance, and hungry to the point of distraction. So far, he had been avoiding the local populace, fearful of discovery. If Optimus Prime were ever to find out that he was alive, living inside other mechs like some form of parasite, he would be hunted down and destroyed. That was an outcome he wasn't willing to even consider.

Prime. The memory of his own last moments alive, betrayed by his original self and his former commander, came flooding back in a vicious tide. The image of the powerful red and blue mech, staring at him down the barrel of his blaster rifle as he pulled the trigger, made Slipstream want to retch at the thought... with a shudder of revulsion, he shrugged it off. He had far more important things to worry about at the moment. Revenge could wait until later.

O o O o O

The Cybertronian Sciences Institute was not the kind of place that Rodimus Prime would usually frequent, not in his old life as Hot Rod, and certainly not now. He had never been a scientist, and the field had never really held much interest for him. But the head of the institute, a mech named Mainframe, had been all but begging for a meeting with Prime for months. Seeing as the scientist wasn't going to take no for an answer, and Rodimus had finally reached a stage where he had no more crises to deal with, Prime had eventually agreed.

Nestled in one of the more affluent districts of Lexaris City, a short journey south of Iacon, the building held a wonderful feeling of grace. All bone-white spires and shining permaglass, it was a veritable palace, matching the Hall of Heroes in terms of grandeur. It was a temple of learning, of knowledge... or, at least, that was how Mainframe had described the place, as he had taken Prime, Kup and Blurr on a grand tour of the facility. The director had dragged them around half of the lecturing halls and labs in the building, chatting incessantly about all manner of scientific advances that the institute's finest minds were working on. Eventually, as they came to a halt in front of a large, well-armoured door, he came to the reason he had wanted to see Prime.

"Rodimus Prime," Mainframe had said out of the blue, the odd, fussy little mech losing some of his former airs and graces, and becoming more business-like. "Whilst I have no doubt that you have enjoyed the tour of our humble establishment" - here he received two very polite, yet bored, nods, and a string of accelerated verbiage that passed for a 'yes' from Blurr - "I am sure you are eager to find out just why I insisted upon this meeting. In here, good sirs, is the answer."

Mainframe opened the door, and led them into a small laboratory. The walls were lined with computers and instruments, most of which the three Autobots were unable to identify. Mainframe walked straight to the far end of the room, and took up a position next to a stasis chamber, of the kind sometimes used to transport dangerous criminals. He waited for a few seconds for his visitors to enter the room, then for the door to shut, before beginning.

"Before I begin," the scientist said in hushed, semi-theatrical tones, "you must understand that this is all very secret... made_ top _secret, in fact, by the High Council. We here at the Institute wish we could have told you about this sooner, but... well, you understand, I'm sure. For the last six years or so, we have been working on some truly exciting advancements... advancements that, in theory, could end the war between the Autobots and the Decepticons once and for all."

"What?" Prime's response was incredulous, and perhaps harsher than he had intended. "That's... that's amazing! How? And why weren't we told sooner?"

"The Council forbade us!" Mainframe answered quickly, waving his hands in what he took for a calming fashion. "They believed that if we said anything about the potential of what we were doing here, before we were ready, then the Decepticons would attack and everything would be lost. But, we are ready now... ready to unveil what we have found, and to start true field testing."

"What kind of advancements are we talking about here?" Kup asked, intrigued.

"The most exciting kind," Mainframe replied, growing steadily more energetic as he warmed to his subject. "Imagine armour that can regenerate, without a repair chamber or a medic. Nano-tech serums that can perform internal repairs, or reconfigure a mech for a new function without extensive surgery. We're even working on the possibility of techno-organic interfaces... the possibilities are endless. And it's all thanks to one artefact." With those last words, he turned, and ran one hand over the containment pod in an almost affectionate manner.

"Wowthat'samazingtotallyforsurebutwhatartefacthowwhenwhy..."

"I think what Blurr is trying to get across," Prime said, stopping the excitable 'bot in his tracks with a raised hand and a kind grin, "is 'what one artefact could give you all of that?'" Blurr nodded in agreement.

"That's why I brought you here," the scientist replied, an excited smile working its way onto his features. "Before I show you the testing facilities, I wanted to introduce you to... to _him_."

"Wait a second... Him? You mean this 'artefact' is a _person_?" Kup said, not sure if he could believe what he was hearing. "Dead or alive?"

"Deceased. One of your colleagues, Perceptor, sent our friend here's chassis to us almost six years ago. Apparently, our friend here served under your predecessor, Optimus Prime. He had some very interesting anomalies in his make-up while he was alive, and it was deemed necessary to study him further. It's all terribly exciting."

"You're telling me your 'artefact' is a dead Cybertronian? An _Autobot_? And Optimus Prime sanctioned the use of his body for experimentation?" Rodimus Prime growled, something between anger, disbelief, and macabre interest colouring his voice. Everything he had come to believe of his former leader and idol had just come perilously close to being proved a lie; Optimus wouldn't have done such a thing. Would he? "That doesn't sound like the Optimus I knew. Just who was this mech?"

"I can explain everything," Mainframe said, a little upset at the sudden interrogation. "But... but first, you had better see this." He punched a code into the stasis pod's control panel, then stood back. The front of the pod split vertically, gasses escaping its interior with a soft _hiss_. The hatch opened outward, and the three Autobots gathered closer as the smoky, preserved atmosphere within dissipated, revealing the pod's inhabitant. What they saw made Rodimus and Kup shudder, and made Blurr gasp out loud.

Inside was indeed the body of an Autobot, the familiar red symbol emblazoned on his chest plate, clear as day. The mech had obviously been a flyer, slightly built, and with prominent wings rising from his back. His size made Rodimus wonder how old he had been when he had died... or how young. The cause of death was obvious to all... the light grey flyer's head had been obliterated, destroyed by an energy weapon of some variety. As total silence descended, Mainframe cleared his vocaliser, and made a proper introduction to the group surrounding him.

"If I may," he said, regaining some of his composure, "I would like to introduce you to the possible saviour of Cybertron's future. Gentlemen, this is Slipstream..."

* * *

Author's Notes: Slipstream, Mainframe, Fullbarrel, the Daranites and their freighter are mine... any similarity to anyone else's work is purely coincidental (so please don't sue me!)

This is something of a slow start, I know, but rest assured that the story will pick up pace. All reviews welcome!


	3. Ghost in the Machine

Slipstream: Resurrection

Chapter Two

Ghost in the Machine

_Slipstream_. He had heard that name before...

Rodimus Prime regarded the broken shell in front of him, and shuddered inwardly. Ice crystals sparkled on the frame as they reflected the overhead lighting in the lab, and thin wisps of cryo-gas vapour still clung to its extremities. Something about what he was seeing was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it... then, with a sudden shock of realisation, it all fell into place. Instantly, his mind rebelled against the idea, and Prime found himself stepping backward involuntarily, shaking his head in disbelief. It had all just been a fairy tale, a scary story to frighten the new recruits... hadn't it? He hoped so, with every fibre of his being.

Turning to face his two colleagues, Prime found two very different responses to his own. Blurr, who had been even newer to Optimus Prime's forces than Rodimus had been, was simply staring at the body with an expression of mild bemusement written on his face-plate. There was no recognition there though, and it was apparent that, simple story or not, not everyone had heard the tragic tale. Prime found the thought oddly comforting, as though the warrior's ignorance was somehow a defence against the possible truth...

Kup's expression, though, proved the lie in Prime's hopes. There wasn't just recognition in the old mech's optics, there was a genuine fear there. In the years that he had known the security chief, both as Hot Rod and Rodimus Prime, the commander had never known anything to bother his friend this much. The green veteran met Prime's gaze for a moment, and his optics spoke volumes of the horror that went behind the story that Hot Rod had been told. They were standing in a room with a true nightmare, one that was possibly even worse than anything the Decepticons could throw at them.

Looking back at the headless form in the containment pod, Prime shuddered once more. He had only been on the _Ark_ for a few weeks when he had heard the story; he couldn't even remember who had told it, even. There had been a battle against Megatron's forces that day, and the Autobots had won with little damage to their own warriors. That evening, the Autobots had celebrated their victory, and some of the older 'bots had taken to swapping war stories. One of the stories told had been that of Slipstream.

Hot Rod, being young and naïve, had shrugged the story off as nothing more than a ghost story. The idea of an accident transforming an Autobot, who had not been much older than Hot Rod, into a monster that had preyed on the warriors at the _Ark_, had seemed far-fetched. As the story had gone on, and details of Slipstream having enhanced speed and strength, the ability to heal lethal wounds, combined with the curse of needing to feed on the energon running through the systems of his fellow mechs, Hot Rod had become even more convinced that it was nothing more than an urban legend. Now, that legend's remains were staring sightlessly at him from just a short distance away.

"Rodimus Prime?" A soft voice broke through Prime's chain of thought, and it took him a moment to figure out the source. To his surprise, it turned out to be Mainframe... the previously bombastic mech was staring at Rodimus, concern plain on his features. "Sir... is everything all right?"

"I wish I knew," was Prime's initial reply, almost too quiet to hear. "It's just... I can't quite believe what I'm seeing."

"I know what you mean," Kup added in a low tone, the disquiet in his voice echoing Prime's own. "It looks like Perceptor has got some explaining to do."

O o O o O

With a gasp, Slipstream forced himself into consciousness. A wave of shock, then anger, rose inside him, his spark throbbing with its potential as he stamped down on Fullbarrel's mind. Furious with himself, Slipstream quickly assessed his surroundings; he was pleased to see that his host's body hadn't made it very far at all...

It had just been a routine recharge cycle. The last thing Slipstream remembered was powering Fullbarrel's body down, and waiting for it to restore its main power network. The next thing he knew, he had woken up with the Primus-damned Autobot staggering for the door to his room; by the time Slipstream could exert any control, they were in the corridor outside. If his host had attracted the wrong kind of attention, then the very last of Slipstream's life, such as it was, could well have been over.

Slipstream was glad that he had found this place, deep within the underbelly of Iacon City. _The Darkstar_ was the worst kind of bar; the kind that even the Enforcers avoided unless they were in full riot gear and large numbers. It was filled with criminals, low-lives, expatriated Decepticons, and even a few aliens who were just down on their luck. You could buy almost anything, if you knew who to ask, and you could get yourself killed with the wrong kind of question... which was why nobody asked anyone anything if they could help it. Perfect.

Slipstream had managed to rent one of the rooms above the bar for a modest rate; it wasn't much, just a small storage space, a sonic shower, and a recharge berth that had seen better days, all packed into a room that was in dire need of some maintenance. But it made the perfect place to hide, somewhere he could blend in and not get himself noticed. That had been two days ago. Since then, he had spent as much time as possible on his own, deciding what he should do now that he was back on Cybertron... that was what he had been musing on while Fullbarrel slept.

A noise down the corridor caught the vampire's attention, and he turned his head slowly, fixing the mech at the end of the hall with a penetrating glare. The victim of his gaze quickly ducked back into his own room, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour. Slipstream watched him go, before allowing himself a brief smirk; Fullbarrel's size came in handy, sometimes. After a moment's pause, he turned, and went back to his own quarters, still angry with himself for his lapse in control.

He remembered dreaming, after a fashion... on further thought, he realised that it had been more of a memory. The spaces where Fullbarrel recharged were boring to the point of distraction, as Slipstream dared not leave his host for any length of time, and Slipstream had let his mind wander. He had recalled his last moments in his old body... the pain, the frustration, as he was betrayed by everyone around him. He could see Optimus Prime's optics in his mind, clear blue and full of almost mocking remorse, as he pulled the trigger of his blaster and ended Slipstream's life...

The former Autobot sighed, and sat down on the recharge bed, resting his head in his hands. Before he had lost track of his thoughts and started daydreaming of horrors past, Slipstream had been settling on a plan to finally get his revenge, to pay Prime for his murder. With his own body destroyed, no doubt, he knew he would have to find a way to build something new. He would have to make something that could at least match his former strength and speed, maybe even have some new abilities that could help him achieve his goal. Without those enhancements, he would be too weak to take on Prime and win.

With another deep sigh, allowing cool air to soothe his agitated systems along with his temper, Slipstream threw himself backward onto the bed. He closed down his optics, and ran one hand over his face plate. This was going to be much harder than he had ever thought.

O o O o O

Mainframe led Rodimus Prime and his companions into a small, well lit chamber, one of a few observation rooms attached to the Institute's testing areas. It was well appointed, with several seats and a large couch, all facing the wall furthest from the door. The three Autobots sat down, equal parts eager and anxious to watch the display they had been promised. After their initial shock at seeing Slipstream's body in stasis, Mainframe had appeased them somewhat with the promise of seeing some of the experimental armour the scientists had been working on in action.

There was a collective sense of unease about the whole affair from all three Autobots. True, any advancement that could help them win the war with the Decepticons was welcome; it would save the lives of hundreds of thousands in the long run. The aeons-old conflict could be over in a matter of months, if what Mainframe had told them was true. Peace could finally replace strife, and Cybertron would finally be a safe home for its people once more.

Even so, the whole idea did not sit well with Prime. It felt, for want of a better term, a little too much like grave robbing. The idea that an Autobot's body, even one as altered and warped as Slipstream's, was being used for experimentation just didn't sit well. He was hiding the fact, but he was also furious with Perceptor; he had always gone out of his way to treat the high-strung scientist with respect, even trying to form a friendship with him... now, he found that his 'friend' was part of what was sounding increasingly like a conspiracy, a conspiracy to do something that even most of the Decepticons would find abhorrent.

As the Autobots got seated, their guide was busy talking into a private comm-link, conferring with some colleagues about the impending display. Rodimus could admire the mech's dedication to his work, but at the same time he wasn't sure he liked the scientist's _modus operandi. _He was too eager to find advancements in his field, apparently regardless of the means he had to use to get there. As Prime thought this, the Head of Sciences stopped speaking, and turned to regard his guests. After a brief pause, Mainframe offered his guests some refreshments with a gracious smile, which Prime and Kup declined, and Blurr readily accepted.

"You should enjoy this, gentlemen," Mainframe blustered happily, handing Blurr a freshly poured container of energon, before taking a seat with his own drink. "We're going to perform a comparison test between a piece of the original Artefact, and some of our new armour. It doesn't work quite the same way, you understand; while the chassis of your, er, _former comrade_ is molecularly adaptive, able to reshape itself at a cellular level with enough energy feeding it, the new armour is impregnated with a very advanced form of nanite."

"Nanowhatnowyousaid?" was the gabbled response from Blurr, before the others could speak.

"Nanites," Mainframe clarified. "A new breed of nano-mech. Highly adaptive, and able to replicate material far faster than your normal internal repair systems. We can't re-create the original conditions that caused Slipstream's unique condition. But his make-up inspired us to try some new applications of older tech. This is the result."

The scientist brought a control wand out of subspace, and waved it at the wall with an almost dismissive flick of his wrist. Immediately, the wall became transparent, revealing a stark white lab beyond it. Two display rigs had been set up within the lab, each holding a section of metal, both pieces as plain and featureless as the other. As the Autobots watched, an automated weapons drone hovered into view; the dish-shaped device had been fitted with a high-calibre pulse rifle, a larger weapon than it would normally have carried, giving it an oddly ungainly appearance to all watching.

"The armour section on the left," Mainframe quickly explained, "belongs to Slipstream; a part of one of his wings, in fact. The other is simple cybertronium plate, measured to the same dimensions as the other test piece. The only thing that makes it remarkable is that it has been coated in a dormant version of the new nanites. Now, if everyone is ready, we'll begin."

With another brief wave of the control device, Mainframe began the demonstration. The gun-drone floated over to a point between the two sections of metal, and then fired a single shot into each. The shots were equally placed, each one sounding out with a muffled shriek, and leaving a pair of identical, gently smoking holes in the test samples. The drone hovered back out of sight, its work done, and Mainframe turned to his guests once more.

"Now for the fun part," he said, practically rubbing his hands together in excitement. "First, we're going to activate the left test subject. We found that, even after his death, Slipstream's armour is still keyed to regenerate. All we had to do was apply a direct energon feed to it... it really is amazing. Watch this."

A moment later, and a bank of indicators lit up on the rig holding the first test sample. The Autobots could just make out the low hum of an energon feed activating in the lab. An instant later, and all three of them were sitting forward in their seats, craning to get a better view... inside the lab, the impossible was happening. Thin traces of energon were running over the surface of the panel that belonged to Slipstream, and as Prime, Kup and Blurr watched, enthralled, the metal began to move. It seemed to become soft, running like heated wax, before quickly closing the damage that had been inflicted upon it.

The silence in the observation lounge was palpable. After a few moments, allowing his guests to absorb what they had just seen, Mainframe announced the activation of the second test sample. This time, there was no hum of activating power, and no light show. At first, there wasn't even any sign that the nanites had been activated. Then, slowly, it could be made out that the hole in the metal plate was indeed closing. A few minutes passed, and eventually the damaged section had been sealed over, the only sign that it had even suffered any damage being a circular patch in its centre that was a slightly paler colour.

"As you can see, good sirs," Mainframe announced, whilst rising from his seat, and walking to stand in front of the window, "our method of armour regeneration is, at best, rudimentary. Nothing at all like the sheer beauty of the original subject. However, as we have demonstrated here today, this kind of armour has viable application in the field.

"Imagine, if you will, a newer, better breed of Autobot. With warriors that are capable of taking far more damage than they can currently, and can effect battlefield repairs without the need for a medic or CR chamber, the war against the Decepticons could be over very quickly indeed. Our new weapons, in turn, can help ensure that your forces are far better equipped than the enemy. If you are willing to proceed, gentlemen, we have several more displays set up to show you some of the other advancements that we have been working on."

O o O o O

Rodimus Prime watched the world slip by, as it flew past the view port of the shuttle they were taking back to headquarters. He sat, deep in thought, not really taking in the scenery. He was torn, undecided, and in all truth feeling a little sick. It was late in the evening, and below him the approaching lights of Iacon shone in warm greeting, telling him that he was home once more. But Prime only felt more uneasy. With home came confrontation; Perceptor was going to have to answer for his actions, giving Slipstream's body to the sciences Institute instead of allowing it to be disposed of in a respectful matter, regardless of any orders to do so. At the same time, Prime had many questions to ask himself, too.

The question foremost on his mind was this: was it right, moral even, to use these technologies to advance the war, knowing where they came from? Would victory, and the resulting peace for Cybertron, and the safety of her citizens, justify the means? And when the end came, and Rodimus stood before Primus as his spark returned to the Source, would he be forgiven for having said 'yes' in the face of temptation, even if it was to the lesser of two evils?

Prime didn't know any more, and nothing seemed to make sense. He wanted so badly to do what was right, to do what his forebear and mentor, Optimus, would be doing in his stead. He wanted to protect his friends, and Cybertron as a whole, no matter the cost, to be a leader worthy of his title and its legacy. Now, he knew part of that cost, and he was faced with this dilemma. On top of it all, the thought that Optimus Prime had actually ordered Slipstream's body to be studied sat festering at the back of his processor. Was his hero the mech he had always believed him to be?

Prime sat back in his chair a bit further, letting out a small sigh and wishing, not for the first time, that things could be simpler than this...

* * *

Author's Notes: Another 'talky' chapter again, I'm afraid, and not much action. Sorry about that. The chapter just seemed to grow of its own free will, and several more exciting segments got left to chapter three, which should be along in the next week or two. In short, hope this isn't too boring so far.

Thanks for reading!


	4. Patterns of Light and Dark

Slipstream: Resurrection

Chapter Three

Patterns of Light and Dark

_The Darkstar_ was finally beginning to quiet down. It had been a hectic night; there had been a major league Laserball game, between two teams that had been fierce rivals for mega-cycles. An event like that always brought out a crowd, and the bar had been practically heaving with Cybertronians and aliens alike. There had been fans of the sport clashing with others who supported the opposite team, gamblers vying for a piece of the action, and all manner of traders, salesmen, smugglers and thieves, all trying to make use of the distractions afforded by the crowds.

Slipstream sat in a reasonably quiet corner of the bar, watching the slowly thinning crowds with a mixture of mild disinterest and simmering disgust. The dim lighting didn't quite reach his corner of the room, and Slipstream let the shadows surround him like a cloak, happy to avoid any scrutiny. He held a container of energon just in front of his face, sipping slowly to appease Fullbarrel's complaints, and using the time to think, and listen to the nearby conversations for any useful information. Nothing of any major use had been said so far, but he listened anyway.

Slipstream had finally come to a decision on his immediate future. Revenge was very high on his list of things to do, so to speak, but there were many things he needed to do first. It was all he could think about, his every waking thought, and as the thought once more skipped through his processor, he trembled slightly as he fought to not react. Slipstream's first goal was to secure a new body, one he could call his own. He had an idea on how to go about that, but it would take some time and research... time was something he had in abundance, and research he could do easily enough.

Slipstream had decided that his first port of call was going to be Autobot Central Command. It was a risky move, he knew that; but if he could gain access to the ACC's command hub, he could hand-pick the parts he would need from the Autobot's own advanced technologies division. And the opportunity to slip past under Prime's nose was far too sweet to pass up, in its own way. He would also need a way to assemble the parts, but another thought had given Slipstream the answer to that too; he could simply leave his current host behind, and take over someone with the skills needed for the task.

As Slipstream thought through the practicalities of his plan, a commotion near the bar's entrance caught his attention. A group of five mechs had entered from the street outside, laughing loudly and obviously overloaded on high-grade. A brief flash of red caught Slipstream's optics, and he tensed slightly as he realised that the group were Autobots... normally, their kind came nowhere near _The Darkstar_. The fact hadn't escaped the other patrons of the bar either, and the air quickly became thick with tension. Some of the Decepticons in the bar even started reaching for weapons, and warming up assorted sub-space holsters, ready to draw and open fire in an instant. The lead Autobot began hammering on the bar, and slurred an order for a round of drinks.

"You've had enough," came the gruff reply from the bartender, a great slab of dark green plate that called himself Roundhouse. "Get out, now. We don't want your sort in here."

"Who's gonna make us?" one of the group asked loudly, raising a laugh from his friends. A few of the mechs that had armed themselves began to stand slowly, ready to fight if necessary. One in particular caught Slipstream's attention, a yellow and violet mech that was a regular at _The Darkstar_. He rarely spoke to anyone, and mostly kept to himself, nursing his drink in a quiet corner of the bar... much like Slipstream had been doing. His name was Mindwipe, a Decepticon, and there was something in the way he moved that said he was one of the more dangerous inhabitants of the bar. If Mindwipe was going to get involved, Slipstream had a feeling that it was going to get ugly, fast.

"What are you looking at?" the lead Autobot said loudly, as he noticed Mindwipe walking slowly toward his group. Mindwipe didn't answer, simply stopping a few paces from the nearest mech, his expression seeming slightly amused. This only seemed to infuriate the Autobots.

"I said, '_What are you looking at_', slag-heap?" The lead 'bot, who was somewhat larger than the Decepticon, moved forward, until he was right in front of the yellow mech. "I've got half a mind to wipe that smirk off your face-plate." Mindwipe simply looked upward at the Autobot with an expression that said he was entirely unimpressed, and smiled slightly.

"At the moment, Autobot, I would say that 'half a mind' was being optimistic at best," Mindwipe said simply, his voice low and soft, a barely detectable hint of a warning hanging on each word. "The barkeep asked you to leave. I would suggest you do just that. Go home. All of you."

"You don't get it, do you?" the gang leader snarled, slamming one large fist down onto the bar. "We came in here for a drink, and we're going to get one. Now get out of my way, before I make you wish to Primus that you'd never been sparked!"

"Don't say I didn't warn you," was Mindwipe's only reply. The Autobot lost his temper altogether, and made a sharp movement with his right arm, as though he was about to punch the Decepticon square in the face. But he never made contact. His fist got about halfway to Mindwipe's head, and then simply stopped, as if by itself. In any other circumstances, the stupefied look on the brute's face-plate would have been comical. The gang leader's companions made to step forward, ready to back him up and take out the slightly built mech in front of him. With a glance, Mindwipe somehow stopped them in their tracks.

"You're the ones that don't get it," Mindwipe hissed, his optics beginning to glow slightly brighter. "You aren't welcome here, my friends, and you're not getting a say in the matter. I vote that you get lost... and the _eyes_ have it. Don't come back."

As Mindwipe stressed the word 'eyes', his voice took on a strange, echoing tone, and his optics blazed crimson. From across the bar, Slipstream suddenly found himself having to fight the impulse to get up and leave the bar. It was as though he was no longer in control of his host body; Fullbarrel was moving under a different set of commands completely. As Slipstream exerted more control, and finally sat back down, he saw that he wasn't the only one.

All around the bar, the patrons were looking confused, some of them in the act of sitting back down. Almost everyone seemed to have been affected in some way by Mindwipe's odd display, even the bartender... and especially the Autobots. They had been subjected to Mindwipe's full focus, and were now walking toward the door, looking for all the world like mindless automatons. Mindwipe watched them leave, then turned to Roundhouse and ordered himself a round of high-grade.

"Just what did you do to them?" the larger mech asked the Decepticon, as he passed his drink over the bar. Mindwipe grinned in response, apparently remembering some private joke.

"Let's just say that they're gonna wake up in an... _interesting _position underneath the statue of Sentinel Prime in Central Plaza," he said in an almost whimsical tone, before heading back to his corner of the room. When he got to his usual table, Slipstream was there, waiting for him.

"I think you're lost," Mindwipe said quietly, his voice taking on that same dangerous edge that it had earlier.

"I don't think so," came the simple reply.

"Then get lost. You're sitting in my chair."

"Didn't see a name on it." Mindwipe regarded the green and grey mech in front of him for a long moment, before coming to a decision and taking the seat opposite Slipstream.

"You've got nerve, I'll give you that much," he said, smiling slightly, then taking a mouthful of his drink. "You got a name?"

Slipstream's mind went into overdrive for a moment, as he wracked his brains for a decent name. Both Slipstream and Fullbarrel were out of the question, after all, as both could cause him problems. Just as Mindwipe looked ready to ask the question again, Slipstream finally spoke up. "Umm... Axcell," he said simply.

"Heh, odd name," Mindwipe murmured to himself, taking another sip of his high-grade. "So, Axcell, you look like you've got a question."

"I've got one better than that," Slipstream answered him, lowering his voice slightly. "I have a, er... a _business _proposition for you."

"I'm listening."

"So is everyone else," Slipstream said quietly, leaning forward conspiratorially. "I was wondering if we might talk in private; say, in the alley out back. Less mechs listening in, if you follow. I'll meet you there in five minutes, if you're interested."

O o O o O

Slipstream stepped out into the alleyway, looking warily from side to side, searching the shadows for any signs of life. It was dark, well after midnight, and most of Iacon's lighting was either off or lowered to suit the late hour. Nothing moved amongst the shadows, and after a few more moments Slipstream decided that his plan hadn't worked. He turned, ready to head back into the relative safety of the bar, and came face to face with Mindwipe. Slipstream stepped back a little, startled. The Decepticon simply smirked, and started to walk away from the Autobot.

"After a few hundred cycles as a counter-intelligence operative," he began, the smirk just as evident in his voice, "you learn to get about quietly. Or else you die noisily. So, I'm assuming that this little 'business proposition' of yours was prompted by my display back there."

"It was very impressive," Slipstream agreed. "How does it work? Your ability, I mean."

"It's complicated," Mindwipe said quietly, his not-quite cheerful demeanour turning entirely cold. "And it's private. Let's just say it comes in handy from time to time. So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Straight to business, then," Slipstream smiled, well aware that, with the gap that Mindwipe had opened up between them, it would take everything Slipstream had to fight whatever kind of control mechanism Mindwipe had used back in the bar, if he chose to use it now. He took a step toward the Decepticon, keeping the smile fixed, hoping that he could take Mindwipe off-guard. "I have a very special idea in mind, one that could reshape the face of Cybertron for good."

"I'm listening," Mindwipe said, his voice low. "What is it you need me for?"

"As you say," Slipstream continued, still walking slowly toward Mindwipe, slowly closing the gap, the insidious smile starting to turn cruel. "Your unique gift could be of great use to me, I think. If I'm going to do anything of what I have planned, then you may turn out to be very useful indeed. I'm afraid that I'm going to need your body."

"Hey," Mindwipe began, sounding both confused and amused all at once, "you must be confused. I'm not that kind of mech..." Before he could finish speaking, Slipstream lunged forward, covering the small distance between himself and his prey with far more speed than Mindwipe had thought possible. Slipstream grabbed the yellow mech by the throat, using his greater size to throw him backwards and pin him against the alley wall. Mindwipe's response was everything Slipstream had expected, and so much more.

"Let. Me. Go." With those three simple words, Mindwipe's eyes lit up, and his voice took on the haunting, echoing quality it had taken on in the bar. Slipstream immediately found that Fullbarrel's body was doing just that; his grip loosened, and before Slipstream could do anything to stop it, his host body was stepping backwards. With a massive surge of effort, Slipstream fought to retake control, fighting against Mindwipe's own commands. All the while, the Decepticon's terrible, glowing red optics bore into his own, making him lose control of his host. And so Slipstream did the only thing he could. He let go. He severed all of his connections to Fullbarrel's systems, and released himself into the air.

One second, Mindwipe was staring down his attacker, the next he was watching a nightmare unfold. The ghostly, vaporous shape of Slipstream loosed itself from Fullbarrel's body, hovering in front of Mindwipe without a sound, a faint red glow showing where eyes might have been in the gas-like form. Slipstream's former host, reeling partly from his sudden freedom, and partly from the mental barrage he had just received from Mindwipe, staggered into a quiet corner of the alley, looking completely lost.

"What in the Pit are you?" Mindwipe gasped, as something akin to a snarling face formed briefly from the mist. It leered at him, an expression of purest malice, and for the first time in mega-cycles Mindwipe felt afraid.

"I am your newest nightmare," the vapour whispered to him, its silky, dangerous voice wrapping itself around the Decepticon's senses like smoke. "I told you that I need your body. And it's all mine now." Slipstream's prey wasn't about to just give in, however.

"Leave me alone. NOW!" Mindwipe roared, reactivating his control ability, fuelling it with all of the fear and rage he felt at the monster facing him. His gift, based on a combination of subliminal codes and machine telepathy, had served him well up until now. He could overlay almost any thought or command onto the mind of an opponent, leaving them like proverbial putty in his hands. His targets would do what he wanted, then simply wake up, with no memory of their actions. And if he unleashed it at full strength, like he was doing now, he could destroy their minds utterly...

Against the creature in front of him, though, his ability did nothing. As Slipstream lunged forward, and began the process of beating back Mindwipe's personality, destroying all of his hard-earned self-control, his sense of identity, everything that he was or would ever be... Mindwipe could do nothing but scream silently in fear...

O o O o O

Fullbarrel was finally free.

He was also entirely lost. He was in a darkened alleyway, surrounded by trash and debris, but Fullbarrel didn't even know which city he was in. Not far from where he was standing, he noticed a feral cyber-hawk watching him with beady, dull red optics. It loosed a small, static-filled screech at him, then spread its under- maintained wings and took off. Fullbarrel watched it go, a little envious of the creature; it, at least, knew where it was and where it was going.

Fullbarrel had no idea where on Cybertron he was, or how he had managed to get there. What he did know was that he felt awful; his processor was in a mess, he couldn't think straight, and his body felt like he'd been the victim of an over-amorous mag-train, as one of his colleagues might have put it. The only thing he knew for certain was this: he felt as though he had just escaped from some terrible, reality shattering nightmare. He just knew that he was free, even though if didn't know what he was free from.

"There you are. I didn't think you could have gone very far."

Fullbarrel jumped, not having heard anyone approach. He looked to his left just in time to see a yellow and purple mech slip out of the shadows at the end of the alley. Red optics regarded Fullbarrel with faint amusement, leaving a cold feeling running down his back. As the stranger got closer to Fullbarrel, a sudden wave of recognition hit him. He knew the mech, and somehow that wasn't a good thing.

"Who are you?" he asked. "And where am I?"

"It doesn't matter," the stranger said with quiet finality. "In a short while, nothing will matter for you, I'm afraid. I'm glad that I managed to find you before you remembered anything of the last couple of weeks. Better yet, before you could tell anyone about me."

"Who are you?" Fullbarrel asked again, fear colouring his voice.

"As I said," Slipstream continued softly, "It doesn't matter. Now that I've found you, my friend, I want your help with something. You see, I need to test this new body, to get a grip on how everything works." He held out one hand, and brought a weapon out of sub-space, a concussion blaster with a pistol grip. Slipstream held it out to Fullbarrel.

"Take it," he said, applying a small level of pressure with his new host's gift. Nothing happened at first, but then, slowly, Fullbarrel reached out and took the weapon.

"You know what to do," Slipstream pushed again, harder this time. Fullbarrel pushed back, fighting the signals controlling his systems. Slipstream tightened his grip, his optics starting to glow as he added another layer of control.

"_Use... it..._"

Slowly, steadily, Fullbarrel raised the barrel of the small gun to his head, and pressed it gently to his head. His optics pleaded for mercy, but none was forthcoming. Slipstream simply smiled as he heard the weapon's barking report, then watched as Fullbarrel fell lifeless to the floor. He gently took the pistol from the engineer's hand, then turned and walk back into the shadows, one single thought on his mind.

_Ready or not, Prime... _

_Here I come..._

* * *

Author's Notes: Sorry this has been so long in coming. Real Life (TM) took a toll, I'm afraid, and writer's block did nothing to help. 'Dang It' just about covers it, methinks. Still, I'm back! Hopefully, the next chapter won't be so long in coming.

I do not own Mindwipe, Hasbro does. He's a lesser-known canon character from the Headmaster/Targetmaster series of toys, and the comics that went with them. Everyone else in this chapter is mine.

Thanks for reading!


	5. Rebirth

Slipstream: Resurrection

Chapter Four

Rebirth

"It's been two days, Prime. Isn't it about time you talked to him?"

Kup looked up at Rodimus Prime, patiently waiting for an answer as their elevator descended to the ground floor. The doors in front of them parted softly a few seconds later, and the pair walked out into the Command Centre's atrium and toward the main doors. Prime stayed silent for a few moments more, before finally speaking.

"I suppose it is," he said quietly. "I know I have to talk to Perceptor, Kup. It doesn't mean I have to like the idea, though. You could always do it, you know." He caught his old friend's expression, one of complete incredulity, and broke into a grin. "Hey, Prime's privilege! I get to delegate!" He and Kup both laughed at that, and they were both still laughing when they reached the main doors. As they walked outside, and into the morning bustle of Central Plaza, Jazz was waiting for them.

"G'morning boss-man, Kup," the cheerful mech said in greeting as he fell into step beside Rodimus. Together, they joined the flow of foot traffic, and began moving slowly with the crowds. "Time for the morning report," he continued after they had walked for a short while. "I finally got some news from the enforcers on that missing person gig. They found him."

"Where was he?" Kup asked, turning slightly to avoid a yellow-coloured mech heading in the opposite direction. From the look on Jazz face, it was obvious that the news wasn't good. Before the saboteur could answer, though, they reached their destination, a small diner that was a favourite of Prime's. The friends entered and found a table, and had their orders taken by a pleasantly-contoured femme with a light blue chassis. After she had gone, Jazz finished his report.

"It's not good," he said, his tone unusually sombre. "His body was found in an alleyway down in the sub's early this morning. From the angle of the wound that killed him, the techs say that it was most likely self inflicted. Trouble is, there was no sign of a weapon."

"Could it have been taken by a looter?" Prime asked.

"Maybe," Jazz conceded as their orders began arriving. "Someone in the wrong place at the wrong time, perhaps. Or, just possibly, Fullbarrel could have been killed by someone who knew how to make it look self-inflicted. We don't know."

"Y'know," Kup said as he took a mouthful of freshly warmed energon, "I worry about the way your mind works, boy." Jazz grinned, and Prime joined him.

"Special Ops'll do that to ya, man," Jazz answered good-naturedly. "You start seeing dark an' creepy things everywhere you look!"

"So what makes you think there might be a third party?" Prime asked, bringing the conversation back on subject.

"Well," Jazz said, picking up his glass and swirling the energon around thoughtfully, "we still don't know if he was responsible for the power plant damage. It's starting to look that way, but something says to me that there might have been a third party. Call it a hunch. There's just something about this whole thing that doesn't sit right, and I don't know what."

"I'm sure we'll figure it out in time, lad," Kup said, clapping Jazz on the arm. "'Til then, it's just one more mystery..."

O o O o O

Slipstream wove through the crowded streets of Iacon, heading towards Central Plaza and Autobot Central Command. Every so often, as the crowds ebbed and flowed like water, he found himself having to step aside for groups of Cybertronians or Autobots. He was glad that he had thought to remove his host's Decepticon insignia; without it, he was just another face in the crowd, anonymous and safe. The feeling was most liberating.

Eventually, he saw his destination coming into view. The ACC rose in front of him like an armacrys-plated monolith, gleaming in the morning sunlight. A faint memory passed through Slipstream's mind of a very different scene, of the building in ruins, traces of Decepticon weapons fire evident on every surface. It had been a dark time, not so very long ago; a time of war seemingly without end. For so long, it had seemed that the Decepticons would win, and the Autobots would be destroyed.

How the mighty had fallen. The thought made Slipstream's host squirm inwardly, and the sensation made the vampire smile.

Gaining access to the building was almost obscenely easy. He had simply walked through the doors. A little carefully-applied mental pressure made everyone who saw him forget him an instant later. He couldn't affect the security cameras, but another dose of his hypnotic abilities made sure that a security officer would be sure to erase any of the vid-stream recorded in the areas he would be visiting. Getting what he wanted was going to be like taking an energon treat from a sparkling.

Slipstream felt that he had hit the jackpot regarding his latest host, and couldn't be happier. Mindwipe's skill set went far beyond hypnotising mechs; as an intelligence operative, he had extensive knowledge of hacking, data-retrieval, and a decent knowledge of self-defence, including a small amount of the rare martial art known as Metallikato. Mindwipe's personality was harder to suppress than Fullbarrel's, and Slipstream felt a little drained as a result, but what he received in return more than made up for feeling tired, in his opinion.

He slipped into a quiet side room, just a few corridors in from the entrance hall. It was dark, and looked as though it usually served as a functions suite. There was a computer terminal set into the large table that dominated the room, and Slipstream quickly set to work accessing the main database. Most of the surface data was useless, from duty rosters to shift cycles, contact information and maps of the building. Before long, Slipstream began to bump into security protocols, and the real digging began.

As Slipstream searched for any files on advanced weapons and technology, he had to fight the urge to do a side search on Optimus Prime. He didn't trust himself entirely when it came to hacking, and was worried about leaving any fingerprints as it was. A search on Prime's whereabouts was more likely to show up than his current search parameters, which would only be noticed (assuming he left any traces) if someone did a similar search of the system. _First things first_, Slipstream told himself, and continued his search. He would get around to visiting Prime when the time was right.

After almost an hour of working, he finally broke through the last lock-out on the Advanced Tech folders. There was a long list of new technologies that the Autobot sciences division were working on; advanced adamantine sniper bullets, electron stun nets, thermite plasma pistols and more were all on file. In short, it was like a weapon specialist's dream. Then he hit the mother lode. At the bottom of the list, Slipstream came across a locked folder simply titled 'AT-127'; it was so innocuous that he nearly missed it amongst the more interesting toys on the list. His interest piqued, Slipstream broke through the programs sealing the information within the folder.

The results both shocked and pleased Slipstream far more than he had thought possible. He had hoped to find something, anything that he could use to make a new, more powerful body. But this... this was utterly _perfect_. It was like a dream, a prayer answered and left specifically for him... Regenerative armour, nano-tech applications for repair and reconfiguration, more efficient energy weapons; with the technology in this file, Slipstream would be able to rebuild his original body, with even more power than he had possessed previously. He would be faster, stronger, better armed than ever before. This time around, he would be the one who lived, and Prime... Prime would be the one to die...

O o O o O

Rodimus stood in the doorway of Perceptor's lab, watching as the scientist worked. He seemed happy, tinkering with whichever device he was holding at the moment. Prime had gone out of his way to make friends with the mech. He had looked past Perceptor's occasionally superior attitude, he had even grown to like his single-minded focus on any subject that was even remotely scientific. Now, though, Prime was being forced to re-evaluate everything he thought he knew about Perceptor, and he had to ask the question... had he ever really known the mech?

"Rodimus? I'm sorry, I didn't see you standing there. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Rodimus forced a smile onto his face, as the highly-strung scientist looked up and greeted him with a smile of his own. After all, Prime thought to himself, there might still be a good reason for Perceptor's actions.

"I've been meaning to talk to you, Perceptor," Prime said slowly, stepping into the room and away from the door, allowing it to slide closed. "Some questions have been raised of late, questions that I need your help in answering."

"Oh?" came the nonchalant reply, as Perceptor placed the equipment he was holding on a nearby table, and turned to give Rodimus his full attention. "Of course, I'll help in any way I can. What sort of questions?"

"Questions concerning Optimus Prime," Rodimus said, tension showing clearly in his voice, though his stance was neutral. "And questions about some information I recently received from the Sciences Institute... regarding Slipstream."

"Ah, I see." Perceptor seemed to think for a second, as though deciding what to say. He pulled out a stool from under his workbench, and sat down. "I've been waiting for this conversation, you know. I've rehearsed my answers over and over again, knowing that whatever I say, I may well damage any faith my colleagues may have in me... Now that it comes to it, Rodimus, I find that I can't do it." Perceptor heaved a deep sigh, allowing his systems to cool slightly, before continuing.

"I did it, Rodimus," he said. "I had Slipstream's body transferred to the Institute, instead of the decommissioning plant."

"You _what_?" Rodimus took a step forward, his voice getting slightly louder. "They told me at the Institute that it was done under Optimus' orders. Is there any truth to that, Perceptor? Tell me the truth."

"Optimus had nothing to do with it," Perceptor said, rising from he stool, and taking a step away from Prime. "He did keep Slipstream's body in stasis for some six months after his death, though. He wanted to see if we could at least fully understand what had made Slipstream into... into the _creature_ that he had become, and to see if it could be prevented from happening again. I was part of the team assigned to that task."

"That's one thing," Rodimus all but growled at the retreating scientist. "But giving his body away for extended experimentation, it's just... wrong. It's little better than grave robbing! Why would you do such a thing?"

"If you saw a chance to better our people, wouldn't you take it?" Perceptor asked. "I did what I did for just that reason. When Prime ordered Slipstream's body to be sent here for dismantling, as is traditional, I... I forged new orders. I contacted a friend on the High Council, and they made sure that the new orders were carried out.

"I know it was wrong," Perceptor continued. "But at the time, the possibilities for what we could learn from Slipstream's mutation were just too tempting to pass up. I've heard that they have made some quite amazing discoveries, based on what they have found. I know that can't make up for what I have done, but perhaps you can at least understand why I did it. For what it's worth, I really am sorry."

"I have every right to have you thrown into the brig and forgotten about," Prime snapped. "Forging orders from a _Prime _no less, mistreatment of a deceased being, hiding that fact from your superiors... Sorry doesn't even come close to cutting it, Perceptor." Rodimus Prime turned, and stalked toward the door. As it obediently opened for him, Prime turned his head and cast one more glance at the dark red mech behind him.

"As it stands," he said, his voice low, "I don't want to see or hear from you for a long time. Stay out of my way."

And with that, he was gone. Perceptor watched as the door _hissed _shut once more, then stepped backward until his back reached the wall, before sliding down onto the floor. He held his head in his hands, and released a shuddering gasp. He had done it for all the right reasons, he told himself. Cybertron would be better off for his actions, the Autobots would be better off. And one day they would thank him.

For the time being, Perceptor couldn't help but wonder if the road to the Pit was indeed paved with good intentions...

O o O o O

There were so many corridors... so many that Slipstream was beginning to feel lost. The Sciences Institute was, for want of a better term, labyrinthine, and the fact that every one of the hallways was identical wasn't helping matters. Slipstream was growing increasingly impatient, and the pressure building in his cerebral net was becoming quite painful. He was so close to realising his goals that it was beyond tantalising, he could almost taste it... 'almost' being the operative word.

Slipstream's guide did seem to know where he was going, though, and that was some small relief. The vampire had cornered the first poor soul he had come across, a young lab assistant named Flywheel, and had coerced him into helping Slipstream to where he was going. The equipment Slipstream wanted, the contents of the secret folder he had found, were in a secure lab at the very heart of the Institute, and the journey had taken its toll on him. He had needed to use Mindwipe's gift more than ever, and had even needed to hack through some security codes on the occasions that Flywheel hadn't had the proper access for moving through a set of doors.

"We're here," Flywheel droned vacantly, as he and Slipstream rounded a corner. Sure enough, a large set of armoured doors barred their way, and Slipstream felt a fresh thrill of anticipation as he imagined the treasures within. He stepped forward, and began typing into the access panel, letting his host's instincts take over, and began overriding the locks on the security portal. A few moments later, the door opened, and Slipstream and his latest thrall stepped inside.

"You're sure this is the place?" Slipstream asked, Mindwipe's voice sounding cold and harsh as it echoed from the lab walls. Flywheel nodded slowly, before droning an answer.

"Yes. Everything is here."

Slipstream turned slowly, admiring the equipment that lined the room. Vials of nanite suspension fluid sat neatly in holding racks, and piles of sealed containers lined the wall, their identification markings telling him at a glance that they contained weapons and armour. Data pads sat on desks, that Slipstream guessed held any amount of information on the new advancements that he sought; the room looked as though it was being used as a staging ground, prepared to begin shipping out the new equipment. Slipstream felt like a sparkling in a toy shop, caught somewhere between crying out in joy and laughing. Now, he just needed to find someone who could help him use these wonderful new toys...

"Where did all this come from?" Slipstream wondered aloud, still staring in awe. He was more than a little surprised when he received an answer; he had almost forgotten that the little mech he had hijacked was even in the room.

"Upstairs, sir." Slipstream turned on Flywheel, a predatory grin on his features. He stalked forward, until he filled Flywheel's gaze, red optics glowing fiercely.

"Show me..."

O o O o O

Slipstream stepped forward slowly, unable to believe what he was seeing. It couldn't be, it just _couldn't be_...

The stasis pod that had been holding his body... _His _body... sat open at the far end of the room. Gently swirling wisps of gas coiled around the fragile-looking form within, the stark lighting of the lab casting deep shadows upon its chassis. Slipstream couldn't believe, _refused _to believe, what he was seeing. After the weeks of planning, hoping and daring, after all of the plotting and dreams of revenge, everything he had hoped for had been right here all along.

Slipstream wanted to cry. Or purge. Maybe scream... he didn't know any more. He was so happy it defied description. Every intake of air sent shivers along every system in Mindwipe's body as it reacted to the sheer joy running through him. At the same time, he was disgusted; he felt utter violation at what had been done to him. How dare they... how DARE the Autobots think that they had any right to use his body for experiments, like it was nothing more than a scrap-drone.

With all of those mixed emotions coursing through him, Slipstream took another step forward, taking care not to trip over the broken form of Flywheel. When the technician had opened the pod, Slipstream had been so shocked at what he was seeing that he had killed the youngster, drawing his pistol and emptying half of the energy cell into him in a fit of rage. Now, he paid the still-smoking shell no mind at all. It didn't matter... nothing did any more.

Gently, ever-so-slowly, Slipstream reached up with one hand. He stopped with his fingers just a hair's breadth from the tattered Autobot sigil on his old body's chest plate, unwilling for a moment to continue, as though the whole thing would evaporate like mist, disappearing into a dream if he did. He took a moment to take in a deep influx of air, calming himself, before finally laying his hand on the remains of what had once been his head.

"_Prime... It's... It's me. Slipstream," he gasped, his body doubled over with pain, his fight against the monster easily visible. "The real Slipstream. I can't hold it back for long. It's taking all I have just to talk. Listen to me. You have to kill me, Prime. Please. It's the only way..."_

"_No," gasped Prime. "I can't, not while there's still a chance..."_

"_There isn't!" was Slipstream's plaintive reply. "It will kill you, and it will kill the others, and it will keep on killing until there is nothing left. You have to end it for me, Optimus. I can't do it by myself... Please!"_

"_I... I can't," Prime said desperately, while struggling to bring his blaster to bear, the knowledge of what he had to do warring with his need to save his friend. "I just can't do it..."_

"_You have to!" Slipstream begged him, coolant tears coursing down his young face. Prime was sure he felt his spark beginning to fracture. "It's the only way!"_

"_No!"_

"_Do it NOW!" Slipstream roared, his eyes blazing red, rising to attack once more. He began to lurch forward, still not entirely in control, and as he did the old Slipstream pushed through one last time, for one last plea..._

"_KILL MEEEEEE!!"_

The memory hit with such force that it physically shook Slipstream. His last moments, when the whelp that he had been had finally betrayed him to Prime. That wouldn't happen this time. Nothing could stand in his way... just as soon as he could get his body repaired, it would be the beginning of the end for the Autobots. Slipstream smiled, imagining the new carnage he would wreak.

"Home," he whispered to himself, moving forward to rest his current head against his old chest. "Home at last..."

* * *

Author's Notes: Flywheel is mine (not that he lasted very long!) The flashback is from _Reflections in a Broken Mirror_, chapter five of _Slipstream: Chronicles._ It's okay, though, I know the author :)

Time for the proverbial to hit the fan, methinks. The first part for chapter five, _The Acquisition of Dreams_, has been written since before the prologue for this fic was posted... right alongside another piece that is set for the very end (and which shall remain very secret until then...) In fact, it was the very first thing I wrote.

The scene for Slipstream getting his body back has been one of the key pieces for me, and I can't wait to see what you all think. Until then, please let me know what you think so far, be it good, bad or indifferent. Bye for now!


	6. The Acquisition of Dreams

Slipstream: Resurrection

Chapter Five

The Acquisition of Dreams

_Nothing could stand in his way... just as soon as he could get his body repaired, it would be the beginning of the end for the Autobots. Slipstream smiled, imagining the new carnage he would wreak._

"_Home," he whispered to himself, as he rested his current head against his old chest. "Home at last..."_

Slipstream stepped back from his body, and looked around the lab briefly. A plan was beginning to form in his mind, and from the look of things, there might just be enough equipment in the containment lab to pull it off...

Closing down his optics, Slipstream gathered himself, focusing his whole being – such as it was – into one, single act. He had learned some time ago, during his internment on the Daranite freighter, that he could draw energy from surrounding machines, bleeding power from them like a leech. He reached out into the lab equipment around him, then into the power outlets, even the lights. As he began to draw more power from them, the lights began to flicker. The computer terminals began to flash wildly, accessing random information, or alternately switching themselves on and off. The other equipment began sporadically coming to life, reacting to the vampire's presence. The air pressure in the room began to build, and streams of energon began arcing from the various surfaces in the room to Mindwipe's body, and the immortal spark that it carried within.

Slipstream and his host, both caught in the same moment of agonizing ecstasy, threw back their head, mouth open wide. A low moan emanated from their throat, rising into a full-grown scream, a birth-cry from the darkest depths of insanity and pain. It lasted but a few moments, and as the monster within separated its spark from that of its unwilling host, Mindwipe's cry was subsumed by a wailing, audio-shattering scream that was all Slipstream. Slipstream hovered above the stunned form of the Decepticon for a few seconds, drinking in the last amounts of energon that it could carry. Then silently, steadily, it moved forward and sank into the broken chassis that it had once called its own... and would do so once more.

At first, nothing happened. Slipstream's body remained as still as it had since the day he had died, silent as the grave. Anyone watching would have been hard-pressed to tell when that state changed. With aching, glacial slowness, the sections of metal and wiring directly around the point that Slipstream's head should have inhabited began to move. Tiny amounts of energon tracery began to run over the surface, describing an electrical spider web amongst the broken component parts. Metal alloys began to turn soft, then almost liquid, flowing together and growing like warmed mercury.

From his prostrate position on the floor, Mindwipe could only watch in growing horror at the sight before him. The head of the dead mech in the stasis pod was actually starting to grow back... first neck components, then the makings of a lower jaw, began to take shape. The support framework for an upper cranium began to form, followed by an optical relay on the left side of the face, then the optical sensor itself. In his weakened state, drained as he was, Mindwipe could only release a mewl of terror as the optic powered up, a bright, blood red... and then the head turned to face him.

Dented and battered, the body looked as though it shouldn't be able to move. But move it did. The Autobot reached up with his right hand, as though reaching toward Mindwipe. The shoulder followed, and with a lurching motion he took his first step. From deep within his ruined vocaliser, Slipstream uttered a low, bestial growl as, with a shambling gait, he descended upon the Decepticon. Mindwipe tried to crawl backward, away from the abomination, but Slipstream quickly gained speed and caught him, falling forward and pinning Mindwipe with his bodyweight.

Mindwipe tried to fight back, but was still reeling from the effects of Slipstream's earlier energy drain. He could only struggle in vain as the creature held him down, then with almost tender slowness moved its mouth to brush against the joints in his neck plating. He felt two pinpoints of searing pain, then the world simply went grey in slow motion... before going dark, one final time...

O o O o O

Mainframe had always been something of a particular mech. He followed a set routine as often as possible, taking solace in details and regularity. It grounded him, he believed, and gave him a stable base from which to launch his mind into the realms of scientific advancement. Finding order amongst chaos was a passion for him... in many ways, it was a driving force for his being a scientist, finding out all of the unknown things, and making sense of them.

It also meant that many of his colleagues regarded him as being a variant of obsessive/compulsive, and hence quite predictable in his movements. Many knew that at this time of the afternoon, a little after midcycle, Mainframe would be wandering around the labs surrounding the advanced technologies section. It was just something he would do during his break time, walking in no particular route and thinking to himself, when he knew that the labs would be mostly empty. Which is why, when a power outage was recorded in the containment lab that housed Slipstream's body, Mainframe was one of the first to be called.

"What do you mean, a power disturbance?" he grumbled into his communicator, while making his way up to the lab in question. "I'm not more than three corridors from that room, and the lights didn't so much as twitch!"

"I'm sorry, sir," came the apologetic reply from Mainframe's personal assistant. "It could just be a system error, and the security team weren't even that concerned by it. But it's in the... the _artefact_'s room, sir. I thought you should know."

"Yes, yes, I suppose you're right," Mainframe sighed, as he turned a corner and the security door he wanted came into view. "I'll let you know if anything interesting happens."

Mainframe switched off the communicator, and began entering his access codes into the door controls. As he keyed 'enter', and the door began to open, he was greeted by a scene that even his wildest nightmares would have had trouble conjuring...

O o O o O

Slipstream drew the last drops of energon from Mindwipe's systems, and allowed himself a moment to revel in the moment. He had both missed this feeling, and loathed its return. The hunger, the pure, ravening _thirst_ that went with his condition. Feeling the need for the fuel of another, then sating that desire... it was almost indescribable. He felt powerful on so many levels, that it made his senses sing. At the same time, Slipstream almost regretted the hold that his condition held over him. But he could always try to deal with that later.

At that exact moment, the last thing Slipstream wanted to see was the door to the lab opening. When it started to do just that, Slipstream felt several things. The first was a sudden rush of fear at being discovered before he was fully healed. Then, a moment of frustration, as he realised that if he wasn't careful, then his plans might be thwarted before they started. As he looked up with his one optic, and saw the look of horror on the face of the scientist standing in the doorway, the last emotion that swept through him was the simplest.

Rage. In one savage movement, Slipstream pulled away from his victim, twisting his head sharply and literally tearing the throat from Mindwipe's corpse. He spat violently, launching the shattered gobbet of machinery across the room, before turning to face the mech before him. The scientist's mouth was working silently, utter horror written across his face-plate,and the expression woke something primal inside the vampire. He suddenly realised something; mechs like this one had kept his body, treated it like a lab rat, desecrated his body... and now they would pay.

Slipstream leaned backwards slightly, sitting back on his heels, and managed a kind of feral, lop-sided grin at his new target. He'd give the mech something new to study... before he killed him. Slipstream threw back his head and, after gathering himself for a moment, loosed a long, shuddering scream. The noise was part of him, in its own way, a vocalisation of the pain and power that had sprung from his creation. The effect was immediate. In the hallway, Mainframe began to back away, slowly at first, then faster, turning to run. And in the lab, streamers of energon running over his whole frame, his chassis reforming like quicksilver, Slipstream was remade, reborn to his former glory.

Mainframe didn't make it far. He ran as fast as his stout frame would allow, his feet slipping across the smooth floors of the Institute as he took corners too fast, crying out for help the whole way. But no matter how far or how fast he ran, it would never be enough. A low whine coming from behind him, which built quickly into the screech of jet engines, then into the blossoming pain of an impact, were the only warnings that he received. Mainframe's world lurched sickeningly to the right, and for a moment he found himself twisting through mid-air, before being brought crashing painfully to the ground.

As Mainframe's pain-blurred vision righted itself, he found himself looking up into a pair of depthless, crimson optics. It couldn't be real, none of this could be real. Dead mechs just didn't come back to life. "H-how... _what _are you?" he gasped, as he struggled to escape Slipstream's grip. Slipstream simply leered at him in response.

"I am so many things," the vampire hissed, his voice low and menacing. "Right now, I am every last one of those dreams that woke you screaming as a sparkling. I am your nightmares given form, and you will pay for what you have done. You will all pay. Now, do you have any last words?"

"Please... please don't kill me," Mainframe gasped, as Slipstream tightened his grip around the scientist's throat, starting to crush his vocaliser. "I... I can... help you..."

"Help me?" The thought made Slipstream stop short. He did need help, after a fashion. Despite having his original body back, and being whole once more, there were still a lot of wonderful new toys sitting downstairs, just waiting to be used to make Slipstream stronger. He would need someone to install them... and that would require a degree of trust. "Why would I trust you, hmm? Why trust you, when I can simply take what I need..."

O o O o O

Despite the bustle of activity surrounding Rodimus Prime, he found that it was eerily quiet. Everyone present was stunned by what they were seeing, that much was for certain...Prime couldn't blame them in the least, as he felt exactly the same way. He moved to one side absent-mindedly to let an enforcer forensics team pass him, before continuing to pick his way through the debris that had once been the Cybertronian Sciences Institute.

The building was a war zone. From the initial findings, it looked as though the Institute had suffered a full scale attack by the Decepticons. Most of the labs had been wrecked, the equipment destroyed by a mixture of weapons fire and brute force. Everywhere the Autobots and the enforcers looked, the torn and battered remains of the scientists and their attending staff could be found. Not a single soul had been left alive. The attack had been utterly brutal, completely devoid of any shred of mercy.

The hardest hit area had been the advanced technologies division, and Prime and his command staff were convinced that the weapons and equipment within had been the reason for the wholesale slaughter. What hadn't been taken had been destroyed, and even the computer system had been emptied of information, and then scrubbed clean. The techs amongst Prime's team believed that some of the information could be saved, but all things considered, it came as a very small consolation.

Prime eventually found himself standing in the containment lab where Slipstream's body had been held. Jazz, Springer and Spike Witwicky were there, along with a couple of enforcer crime-techs that were running scans on the room and its two deceased inhabitants. Prime nodded in greeting to his colleagues, before taking a look around the room. Surprisingly, this place seemed the least damaged, and were it not for the two bodies, it would almost have seemed that it had escaped unscathed. The only other sign of intrusion was the fact that Slipstream's body was missing.

"What in Primus' name did this?" Prime asked in hushed tones, as he knelt down next to Springer. The green special forces commander had been inspecting one of the bodies, a yellow and violet mech of medium build. He seemed almost untouched, his body devoid of any marks. Above the shoulders, though, was a different matter. A large chunk of his neck had simply been torn out, and it looked as though his optics had been cut free of their sockets by either claws or a blunt knife. The result was beyond disturbing.

"I really don't know, Prime," Springer said in return. "And I'm not sure I want to. I've seen Decepticon attacks before, more than I care to count. They can be vicious, but this... this is something new, even for me."

"I think I've found his throat," Jazz said from across the room, cutting into the conversation. He was kneeling by a computer console, and had just picked up the mangled piece of machinery in question. "Who in the Pit did this guy tick off... Oh, Primus no. It can't be, it just can't _be_!" With a sudden rush, Jazz threw the item to the floor, and scrambled away from it, as though it had burned him.

"Jazz? What's wrong?" Prime had never seen the saboteur this upset. Normally, he could be relied upon to keep his cool, unflappable persona regardless of what was going on around him. Now, he was still backing away from the item, murmuring a steady mantra of _no, no, no _under his breath. "Jazz?" Prime repeated. "Talk to me."

"Uh, Prime, you need to see this," interrupted Spike. "Right now." The human was now studying the throat segment, holding out a section of cable for Rodimus to see.

"What am I looking at?" Prime asked, as he knelt down next to his friend. "It looks like a power cable."

"It is," Spike confirmed. "If I'm right, it would have been one of the primary ones that fed our mystery mech's cranial processor. And I think_ this_ is what's upset Jazz so much." Spike moved the cable slightly, and Prime could clearly see two identical slits cut into the cable. "These marks... This was _his_ trademark, Slipstream's calling card, if you will. The mutilations, too. Back in his heyday, he even took..."

"Someone's head, I know." Prime looked up at the empty stasis pod. Could it be possible that someone, Decepticon or otherwise, had found a way to reactivate the horror? Prime voiced the question out loud, half to himself. Jazz answered him, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I hope not," he said. "For all our sakes, I hope not..."

O o O o O

Slipstream watched the ACC from above, sitting atop one of the taller spires of Iacon's many skyscrapers. Night had drawn in, and the lights that shone from the command centre's many windows, and especially the great armacrys dome that covered the atrium, made it shine like a jewel in the darkness. Slipstream smiled to himself, anticipating the destruction that was to follow. His revenge was within reach, and he found the thought as intoxicating and heady as a rare wine.

Mainframe had done his work well. As much as it had pained him to do it, Slipstream had removed himself from his body, just long enough to ensure that the scientist would do exactly as he wanted. After that, Mainframe had made for a light snack, an appetizer before the feast to come. The modifications that he had made, while not as substantial as he had once imagined, still made Slipstream feel as though he held all the cards. They had also opened up some new opportunities for him, and had set him on a new path... one he looked forward to with great relish.

First things first though...

With barely a sound, Slipstream gathered himself, and launched forward into the night. Just under two hundred metres out from the building ledge he had been balanced on, Slipstream activated his jets, carrying himself the remaining distance that his leap hadn't covered, before beginning his descent toward the crystal clear roof of the Autobot base of operations. Dropping into freefall, the dome rushing up to meet him with increasing speed, the vampire let out a cry of sheer exhilaration. For Slipstream, at least, this was going to be _fun..._


	7. Touching the Void

Slipstream: Resurrection

Chapter Six

Touching the Void

It was a quiet evening at the Autobot Command Centre, and from the reports that Kup had received from Prime's team at Lexaris City, that was probably a good thing. He was reading that same report at the moment, while wandering the corridors of the ACC, heading nowhere in particular. He wasn't sure what had him more perplexed... the sheer, wanton destruction described in the report, or the fact that, after far longer fighting this war than even he cared to recount, he still had the capacity to be surprised.

Kup wasn't sure how, but he ended up in the atrium. He sighed to himself; he had intended heading to his own office, but instead found himself staring up at the night sky through the vast dome that covered the entrance hallway. Kup thumbed the 'off' control on the data-pad, and took a few steps out into the atrium. Most of the office windows that looked out over the hallway were dark, and it was so quiet that Kup could clearly hear the small fountain at the back of the room bubbling to itself.

Kup nodded to the Autobots manning the security station, before heading to one of the small seating areas that lined the atrium. His duties were all but done for the day, and the only thing that Kup needed to do before heading home for the night was to wait for Prime to get back to base, which would be in the next half hour or so. He sat down, happy to have a moment to rest his servos, and looked upward once more. Even with the lights in the atrium, Kup could still make out air traffic and even a few stars in the inky black vista beyond the dome. Amongst the collection of twinkling lights, one caught Kup's attention for a moment, a brief flare against the night, before going dark once more.

Kup focused on the area he had seen the flash, but could see nothing more. He had been sure that it had been backwash from some kind of jet, and it had looked close; far closer than any traffic should have been travelling past the ACC. A second later, and he saw it again, and this time it was closer still... far _too_ close, in point of fact. Kup sprang to his feet, a yell of alarm just beginning to leave his vocaliser when, with a deafening, splintering _crash_, a segment of the dome was sent tumbling into the atrium. Kup had just enough time to get a vague impression of the object that had broken through the dome, a bipedal figure wreathed in engine backwash and dome fragments, before having to dive behind the nearest cover, which happened to be the fountain's base. As his brain fought to translate what he had seen in that moment, he was shocked to recognise it as a Cybertronian.

Kup waited for the cacophony of shattering armacrys to die down, watching as a few of the shards, some longer than his arm, flew past his hiding place and embedded themselves in the wall. A strangled cry from across the room told him that at least one of the guards hadn't been so lucky, and a flood of concern ran through the veteran. Armacrys, while looking like simple glass, was actually an advanced composite poly-alloy, with similar density and stress factors to cybertronium/carbide hull plating, of the kind normally found on starships. In short, it was meant to take nothing less than a concentrated weapons strike to even come close to breaking it; whoever had been hit would be in bad shape.

Kup peered over the top of the fountain, searching for the cause of the impact. It took only a second to spot the perpetrator. In the centre of the hallway, there was a shallow impact crater, a craze of fine cracks spreading out through the pale marble floor like a spider's web. A myriad glass-like fragments coated the surrounding area, glittering as they caught the light. And in the centre of it all, rising slowly from the crouch he had landed in, was the last mech on Cybertron that Kup had expected to see.

Slipstream allowed himself a wide, feral grin, as he took in the collective shocked stares of the Autobots. _Pity_, he thought to himself, _not a single face that I recognise_. The vampire took a step forward, thoroughly intent on introducing himself properly, and hissed quietly under his breath as his tortured and dented legs nearly gave under the strain. He could already feel them healing, though, and by the time he was within striking distance of the closest Autobot, they were whole once more.

Still he moved forward, slow and predatory, savouring the fear and pain he had already caused, and anticipating all that was to come. Slipstream took care to step over the broken form of one of the guards, whose body was peppered with armacrys, and haemorrhaging fluids across the ground in a widening pool. He watched the dying mech for a moment as he walked by, his features devoid of anything save some small, morbid interest, then continued forward once more. The nearest Autobot, a large, white and blue mech with square-set features that stood head and shoulders taller than Slipstream, finally reacted, snapping out of his stunned state and bringing a rifle out of subspace. His colleagues, who had also been staring in mute horror at the vampire, were not too far behind him, and at an order from Kup they opened fire as one.

By the time the first shot was fired, Slipstream was moving far faster than any of them could follow. The opening barrage went wide of the mark as, with a burst of acceleration, Slipstream lunged at his chosen victim. The tall warrior brought his weapon to bear and fired again, but Slipstream was too fast. He stepped aside nimbly at the last instant, then moved forward to attack. With his left hand, Slipstream grabbed the gun barrel, driving upward with his right hand at the Autobot's elbow joint. With a sickening _crack_, the joint broke, twisting the arm into a shape it was never designed to assume.

Without stopping, Slipstream completed his spin, first tearing the rifle out of the guard's grasp, then ramming his left elbow into the Autobot's chest plate. With another mercurial movement, Slipstream brought his right fist up in a vicious open-handed uppercut, sending his opponent sprawling backwards. The whole thing took less than three seconds. A mere moment later, Slipstream swung the blaster in his grip, fired two shots into the mech's chest, then simply watched in undisguised glee as the mech's corpse crashed to the ground.

"So," Slipstream said, his voice soft and low, and utterly malicious. He tossed the weapon to one side, confident that he wouldn't need it any more. "Who's next?"

O o O o O

Rodimus Prime was glad to be back home. After the horror of the attack at Lexaris, Prime's mind had been awhirl with the possibilities of who was responsible, none of them boding well for the people of Cybertron. After discovering the still-unnamed mech in the lab, and the similarities between his death and the methods once employed by Slipstream, Prime had ordered the other corpses in the Sciences Institute to be checked for similar wounds. Of the twenty-eight dead, twelve of them had the same incisions in the fuel lines that fed their cranial units.

As the night had wound on, it had become more and more apparent that the attack hadn't been carried out by a group, but by just one or two mechs. Somehow, in defiance of all possibility, Slipstream was alive, and from the sheer ferocity of the attack, he was more dangerous than ever. The implications were almost too terrifying to think about. Optimus had barely been able to stop the creature last time... what would it take for Rodimus to do the same? In returning to the ACC, Prime looked forward to returning to some semblance of normality, if only for a little while.

As he and his friends turned into Central Plaza, the sight that greeted them was anything but comforting. It was immediately obvious that the ACC had been attacked. A thick pall of smoke rose from the front sections of the building. The flickering light of multiple fires was visible through the windows, lighting the dome with a ruddy, orange glow. Rodimus screeched to a halt, transforming quickly and rapidly barking out orders to his troops. Within seconds, Springer and Cosmos were airborne, circling the ACC and searching for any sign of the attackers, while Prime led the rest of his team in on foot.

Prime reached the ACC's main entrance first, flanked by Jazz and Blurr, and followed by Sandstorm, Trailbreaker, Ratchet and Hound. He threw himself flat against one of the door's columns, hefting his blaster rifle in a double-handed grip, and waited for his team to take their places. Prime risked a lightning fast glance into the atrium, looking for any obvious signs of movement, then ducked back into cover. He hadn't seen anything, but couldn't rule out the threat of enemy snipers. In his spark, Prime already knew this wasn't a Decepticon attack. It was Slipstream, it had to be. He didn't know how he knew; his human friends would have called it a 'gut feeling', and that was the only way he could describe the sensation.

"Hound," Prime said through a private comm channel, while still thinking about the dangers of who they were facing, "see if you can flush out any lurkers. Everyone else, get ready. Springer, Cosmos, anyone up there?"

"Skies are free, Prime," came the terse reply from Springer. "If it's the 'Cons, it looks like they're running without air cover, or else they're running for stealth. Either way, the damage all seems to be concentrated on the sections nearest the public entrance."

"That's not good," Prime said, as he watched Hound begin generating a holographic shell to send into the entrance hall. He almost smiled as he saw the image begin to resolve into his own features, before giving one last order to his air forces. "You'd best get down here. I get the feeling that we're going to need everyone in the fight. Prime out."

Prime watched his photonic doppelgänger walking into the ACC, already getting the feeling that it wouldn't get a response. If Slipstream was following the same pattern of destruction he had displayed at Lexaris, he would be far too busy to be watching the atrium. After a few moments, no one had opened fire on the holographic Prime, and the real one ordered his troops into the building. They moved in slowly, still being careful to avoid any open lanes of fire, and scanning every corner of the room for hidden assailants.

The damage was just as bad as Prime had expected. The atrium was a charnel house; bodies and body parts were strewn across the space, many of them laying in pools of energon and or coolant fluid. Prime knelt down next to the first whole body he came to, and recognised him as Hardcase, one of the night guards. He had two neat blaster holes in his chest, as well as a broken arm and a number of smaller dents across his chassis. He had been hit hard and fast, and the quiet, rising fear that had been building in Prime's chest became just a little sharper. Hardcase lived up to his name, a solid fighter that would never back down. As Prime wondered what it had taken to kill the powerful mech, a call from across the room caught his attention.

"We've got a live one!" Jazz was yelling. "It's Kup!"

Prime was there in moments, kneeling down next to his oldest friend and searching his faceplate for movement. The veteran was completely still, almost peaceful looking, an image completely at odds with the injuries he had sustained. His chest plate bore several long gashes, one deep enough to reveal some of the underlying circuitry. Large sections of Kup's plating were dented, and covered in a patina of dried energon, staining the vibrant green a dull brown. Worst of all, his neck supports showed signs of being bitten, as though chewed on by an animal, and twin slits in one of the power cables on Kup's left side were still seeping thin rivulets of the mech's life-fluid.

"Pr-Prime?" Kup gasped softly, his optics guttering to faded life. "That you, son?"

"I'm right here, old man," Prime said, trying to keep his tone light. Kup smiled weakly in response to the old nickname. "Kup, who did this?"

"S-Slipstr... Slipstream," Kup managed to hiss, gritting his denta in pain. "He's back, Prime. After all this time... we... we shoulda known, kid."

"I know," Prime said, remembering all too well the misgivings he had voiced about Slipstream's body being kept whole. While no-one could have known that the vampire would come back to life, the very idea of keeping his body had felt wrong to the Autobots, and a cloud of foreboding had hung over the whole affair. Now, it seemed that fate had conspired to visit retribution on them all for the actions of a few... shaking his head, Rodimus shook the superstitious thought from his mind, and asked his next question. "Kup... was he alone?"

Kup nodded once, and then his optics went dark. Prime looked to Ratchet with questioning optics, and the medic just shook his head.

"Stasis lock," he said simply. "He'll be out for a while."

"At least he's alive," Prime said gently, giving his friend one last worried glance, before looking to the rest of his team. "Ratchet, do what you can for him. Everyone else, with me. We hunt this thing down, and we kill it once and for all. Move out!"

O o O o O

It had been over an hour since the search had begun. Not long after they had entered the ACC, Prime's team had met up with another group of Autobots that were already arranging defences against their attacker in one of the conference chambers, led by Grimlock and the Dinobots. The Dinobot commander was another one of the few who had survived Slipstream the first time around, and the normally stoic warrior had seemed genuinely afraid of the vampire... or as afraid as he ever got, anyway. The idea of anything scaring Grimlock enough to get a reaction had chilled Rodimus in turn, and it was with a growing sense of dread that he had led the Autobots into their search.

Prime crept up to a corridor junction, moving with almost aching slowness in an effort to remain completely silent. In the last few days, he had read everything he could find about Slipstream and his abilities. While hard information was in desperately short supply, the stories about the creature stated that he had enhanced senses, able to see and hear far better than a normal mech. It could just be rumour, of course, but Rodimus was taking no chances. Clutching his rifle close to his chest, spark pulsing rapidly, he quickly glanced around the corner, ensuring that there was nobody within easy reach of his position. Seeing the way was clear, he then followed through, bringing his weapon to bear and covering his own quiet advance.

In the flickering emergency lighting, the smoke-haunted corridor was alive with shadows, but no actual movement. Prime stayed alert, scanning the hallway carefully before moving forward once more. He was on the nineteenth floor, just a short distance from his office. Rodimus and his team had found three other victims that were still alive, though they were all in deep stasis lock. He had left them all in the care of Ratchet and Jazz, and now he was leading the rest of his team into the warren of corridors and chambers that made up his home. As the search had widened, the team had been forced to split into smaller and smaller groups. Before too long, Prime had found himself alone.

At least, he was sure he was alone. More than once, he had thought that he had heard something, or caught sight of some movement in the smoke. Sometimes, his long range sensors picked up signals on the very edge of their range, but moments later the traces were gone. Prime knew that he was nowhere near any of his friends, as he was keeping track of them via his tactical computer. The nearest friendly icon was Hound, one floor down, and about thirty metres away. But still, the feeling of not being entirely alone was hard to shift. On top of that, Prime was beginning to get the creeping, frightening sensation that he was, in fact, being watched...

O o O o O

Prime was close. Slipstream could practically smell him, and the sensation was both heady and nauseating. He had been stalking Prime for near fifteen minutes now, watching from a distance through the smoke as his quarry searched in turn for him. The air was thick with tension; Prime knew he was being hunted, Slipstream had seen to that. He had taken great pains to stay just out of sight, letting Prime get a glimpse of him here and there, or powering up just enough of his systems to show up on his opponent's sensors from time to time, if only for a second.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, something was bugging Slipstream about his prey. Prime seemed different, but Slipstream couldn't place _why_... after a few moments more, the vampire simply allowed himself a quiet growl of annoyance at himself. He was being paranoid, he decided; coming so far, getting so close, he was letting his fear of failing at the last cloud his judgement. It _was _Prime. Slipstream had seen the Matrix in his prey's chest, his altered vision easily cutting through the murky atmosphere, letting him see the power source pulsing at Prime's core.

Creeping forward, Slipstream began to approach Prime. As he got closer, Prime's silhouette began to become clearer through the smoke, and Slipstream almost laughed out loud as he found that the fool was looking in entirely the wrong direction. He could attack now, fast and brutal, and to extinguish Prime's spark in as violent a fashion as possible, before he even knew that Slipstream was there, would be simplicity itself. The thought was tempting, he had to admit, but what he had in mind for his nemesis was so much more appealing...

O o O o O

Prime stopped moving, sure he had heard something moving nearby. He strained his audios, boosting the gain as much as possible, and began to turn slowly, his optics running through every spectrum they could see in an effort to penetrate the gloom. He couldn't see anything more than a few metres in front of himself. The feeling of being watched had grown stronger again, and the idea that Slipstream was close by sent a chill down Rodimus' dorsal column. He was just starting to believe that it was just his imagination, and had started to calm down a little, when he saw movement on the edge of his vision.

That was all the warning he got. An instant later, Prime's world filled with pain as something hit him in the side, throwing him from his feet. Prime landed hard on his right side, jarring his joints painfully. Before he could recover, Slipstream was on him. Prime lashed out with his left arm, and felt his fist make contact, throwing off his assailant. A second later, and Slipstream was back, landing heavily on Prime's chest and pinning him down. Sharp, claw-like fingers gripped Prime's chest-plate, and he found himself staring into the deep red optics of the beast himself.

What he saw there could almost have been fear. Slipstream was staring back at him, his expression a wild mixture of emotions ranging from shock to confusion to raw, unbridled rage. For a moment, the vampire's attack faltered, and Rodimus made good use of the creature's confusion. He grabbed hold of him with both hands, and threw him bodily from his chest. He followed quickly with a kick to the vampire's mid-section, drawing both his legs up to his chest and lashing out with all his strength. Slipstream was launched several metres down the corridor he had attacked from, allowing Prime a moment to regain his footing.

"You aren't Prime," Slipstream hissed at him, already upright, glaring at Prime with a depth of hatred that the Autobot hadn't felt aimed at him in years... not since he had first faced Galvatron, deep inside Unicron's body. The confusion was gone from Slipstream's face, replaced by rage in its purest form.

"He's cheated me," the vampire said, his voice rising almost hysterically. "After all this time, he's cheated me. But not for long... where is he? _WHERE IS HE?_"

Slipstream launched himself forward then, his optics blazing even brighter than before. Rodimus readied himself to fight back, but found himself struggling to move. Slipstream threw Prime backward, pinning him against the wall, all the while boring into Prime's blue optics with his own. With a mixture of fear and frustration, Prime found that he couldn't look away, couldn't fight back, and he didn't have the first clue why. Slipstream had his hand around Prime's throat, and was studying his face up close.

"Who are you?" the monster asked, his voice echoing oddly from his vocaliser. "Why has Prime given you the Matrix? It's too risky a move, just to lure me out. _Answer me_."

"I'm... I'm Prime," Rodimus said, his voice barely above a whisper, and entirely out of his control. No matter what he tried, his body just wouldn't respond. "My name is Rodimus Prime."

"Two Primes?" Slipstream hissed, moving his face even closer to the commander's. "Impossible. Tell me the truth! Where is Optimus?"

"Optimus... Optimus died, years ago," Rodimus gasped, fighting with all his strength against Slipstream's mental control. Slipstream could feel him working free of his grip, and reinforced his new gift in return.

"You're lying!" he all but roared. The idea that this impostor might be telling the truth stung Slipstream, and left him feeling hollow inside. He could not, _would _not, believe it. He pushed again, harder, his control stretching to its limits."He can't be dead, I won't believe it. _Tell me the truth_."

Prime felt despair like he hadn't known for an age. He couldn't move, he couldn't fight back, he wasn't in control of his own voice even, and Slipstream's hand was slowly tightening around his throat. He was going to die, that much was for certain. He tried to bring his arms up again, fighting with all his reserves. He wouldn't lay down and die without a fight, no matter what strange abilities Slipstream possessed. And it was at that moment that he felt a stirring in his chest.

Prime felt the Matrix pulsing in its shell, felt its strength beginning to fill his body, and gave a silent prayer to Primus in thanks. He grabbed onto the feeling suffusing his core, and used it to fight back against Slipstream's control. Slowly, he felt the vampire's control breaking... and if the monster's expression was anything to go by, he could feel the change too.

"I am Rodimus Prime," he growled, finally moving freely, if slowly, reaching up and grabbing Slipstream by the chest plate. "I won't let you cause any more harm. You couldn't defeat Optimus, you son of a glitch, and you aren't taking me either!"

With that, Prime fired his wrist-mounted blasters. At such close range, they punched clean through Slipstream's chassis and out of his back. Slipstream gasped in shock and pain, releasing his grip on Prime's throat, and as he did so Prime pushed him backward just enough that he could deliver a crushing kick to the smaller mech's chest. Slipstream sailed backward, and landed awkwardly. This didn't slow him down for long, though.

Using his backward momentum, Slipstream rolled until most of his weight was held on his shoulders. When his body was almost completely upside-down, he kicked out with both legs, flipping himself lightly back onto his feet. He landed in a crouch, his lithe body coiled like a spring, and he hissed violently at Prime, his fangs glinting dangerously in the light. Rodimus, to his horror, could already see the six holes he had inflicted on Slipstream beginning to close over. Knowing that he had to end the conflict quickly, he fired again.

Slipstream was too fast. The vampire sprang up and to his left, impacting against the wall with a resounding _clang_, before engaging his jets and launching himself back toward Prime. He attacked with all of his strength, unleashing power that should have been impossible for a mech his size, and drove into Prime like a mag-train. The pair crashed against the wall with such force that the metacrete surface gave way, and in a shower of dust and debris the combatants found themselves landing on the floor of the room beyond – Prime's personal office.

Slipstream was up first, loosing a deafening screech at his opponent before charging back into the fray. Rodimus, on his feet barely a moment later, almost didn't react in time. He surged up and forward, and managed to grab Slipstream as he attacked. Prime knew he had to keep the initiative, and so did the first thing he could think of. He drove his forehead into Slipstream's faceplate, and quickly followed by driving his knee into the flyer's middle, doubling him over. Before Slipstream could rally, Prime gathered his strength and lifted Slipstream bodily, before hurling him across the office, toward the window.

Slipstream remained still, and Prime began to wonder just how much damage he had done. He trained his weapons on the vampire's form, daring the beast to move. For a long, aching moment, nothing happened. Then Prime heard the last sound he could ever have wanted to hear. Laughter. It started quietly at first, but rapidly became louder, bubbling around the room like water. Slowly, Slipstream stood up, facing away from Rodimus. The atmosphere in the previously sealed room was quite clear compared to the corridor outside, and so Prime could clearly make out Slipstream's reflection smirking at him from the window.

"You really _aren't _Optimus," the vampire said, his rich, deep voice coloured with something like humour. It also struck Prime briefly that the vampire spoke with a faintly British accent, which only served to make his tone sound colder still. "He never would have head-butted someone." The reflection smiled almost warmly, as Slipstream reached up with one hand and traced his fingertips across a quickly-healing dent above his left optic.

"Who killed him? Optimus, I mean." The question was posed in such a tone that Rodimus felt sure he heard remorse there, though over what he didn't dare to guess.

"He died fighting Megatron, and saving his colleagues," Prime replied, fierce pride swelling his spark at the memory. Optimus had fought like a legend that day, a sight that Rodimus would never forget.

"A shame," Slipstream said, sounding almost wistful, and more than a little disappointed. "We had unfinished business, he and I." The vampire turned slowly, and fixed Rodimus with an ice-cold glare.

"I guess I'll just have to exact my revenge against that which he loved best. And I think, my dear Prime, that I'll be starting with you..."

* * *

Author's Notes: Hardcase is mine, in case you were wondering.

Sorry this took so long to update. Writer's block can be a killer, can't it? Still, at least it makes up for time spent with quantity... wether that's a good thing, I'll leave for you to decide.

I'm not massively happy with the chapter, so it may end up being edited at some point before chapter seven gets posted. Until then, this will have to do, as I can't think what to do with the darned thing next.

Oh well, onto the next chapter... eventually!


	8. Heart of Darkness

Slipstream: Resurrection

Chapter Seven

Heart of Darkness

"It doesn't have to be this way..."

Rodimus Prime regretted saying the words almost as soon as they left his vocaliser. In an instant, time seemed to slow to a crawl, and Prime found he could take in every detail of the scene before him. Whorls of smoke wound lazily across the ruins of his office, individual motes of dust caught his attention as they briefly caught the light. The air itself almost seemed to be throbbing, a distant, steady thrum of potential working its way around his senses. All of this registered on a subconscious level; the whole of Prime's attention was being held by Slipstream. The vampire had stopped mid-stride, his features twisted into a vicious sneer of derision. His optics were boring into Prime's own, blazing, hateful crimson meeting cool blue in a wordless tide of hatred.

"Oh, but I'm afraid that it does," Slipstream answered almost softly, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. He started walking toward Prime again, slowly eating away the distance between him and his prey. "What? Are you going to tell me that I can be saved, that science has finally found a cure for my thirst? Oh, but my poor, foolish Prime... you seem to be labouring under a very dangerous assumption. What makes you think I _WANT _to be saved?"

With a surge of speed and a chilling cry of rage, Slipstream drove forward, slamming into Prime with all of his strength and toppling the Autobot onto his back. Prime felt clawed hands tightening around his throat, found himself caught up in the murderous intent within those dreadful, fiery optics, and came to the sudden realisation that he may have just sealed his own fate. There was no reason there any more, no faint glimmer of control. There was only rage, pure, unbridled, and bent on his destruction. Prime wrestled with Slipstream for long moments, all the while wondering at the terrifying strength that the vampire possessed, and fighting back with all his reserves in a desperate struggle to survive the onslaught.

Eventually, with a roar of effort, he threw Slipstream free. He followed with another swift kick, and then opened fire, the torrent of energy pushing Slipstream backward. Half of the shots seemed to simply bounce from the older mech's armour, the rest caused scorch marks and gouges on his chassis that healed almost as fast as they were formed. Finally, as Prime's weapons began to overheat dangerously, he was forced to stop firing. If Slipstream had been angry before, now he was absolutely livid. The beast dropped to a crouch, baring his fangs and loosing a long, agonising shriek at Prime.

"You Primes are all the same!" Slipstream all but screamed, as he prepared to launch himself back at Rodimus, all sense of control thrown to the wind. "Optimus couldn't see it, and neither can you. There is nothing to save. You hear me? _Nothing_. And even if I wanted to change, to come back into your fold, I can't. _There aren't enough prayers in Heaven to buy my redemption!_"

"Have it your way," a deep voice countered from somewhere behind Prime. "Rodimus, get down!" Prime dropped with instinctive speed, just in time for a twin pair of high-grade concussion missiles to scream through the space he had been inhabiting and toward Slipstream. Rodimus cast a quick glance at the unexpected arrival, and was surprised to see the monolithic blue and red form of Ultra Magnus standing in the office doorway. And he wasn't alone.

From the sudden burst of noise coming from the hallway, terse orders and situation reports mingling with the collective clicks and whines of loading and charging weaponry, Prime could hear that almost all of Ultra Magnus' strike team had arrived outside. Their timing was almost perfect; with a rush, the Autobot commander realised that he had completely forgotten the team was even due back on Cybertron. Watching Magnus' rockets streaking toward Slipstream, Prime couldn't help but smile... he wasn't alone any more.

Slipstream dove to his left, avoiding the first missile completely. The second impacted on his right shoulder, ripping into the armour around the joint and spinning Slipstream around in mid-air. The vampire landed like a broken marionette, but recovered far faster than anyone else would have found possible, returning to his feet with a swift, graceful handspring. With mercurial speed, he flicked his wrists, opening rocket launchers of his own and firing a salvo toward his new opponents. Prime and Magnus were forced to seek shelter, both mechs diving for cover behind Prime's upturned desk.

The Autobot counter-attack was swift and lethal. From their new position, Prime and Magnus struck back at Slipstream, aiming a torrent of fire at the monster. They were quickly joined by Magnus' team, sporadic shots making their way through the office door and the ruined wall, adding their weight to the storm of shells and energy aimed at the monster at the centre of the storm. Slipstream took it all, firing back when he could, roaring in defiance, dodging when necessary and making the Autobots pay dearly for everything they took from him. From his makeshift barricade, Prime could see that the vampire was slowly wearing down, and shouted for his comrades to redouble their efforts.

The answer came both from within and without. The dull, bass throbbing that had been gnawing at Prime's consciousness for nearly three minutes now finally dragged itself into the foreground, resolving into the whirring _thrum thrum thrum_ of rotor blades. Springer rose into view outside the office window, turning slowly and bringing his weapons to bear. Both of his rotary cannons began to fire as he spotted Slipstream, bolts of searing red light stitching toward their target, and destroying the window and half of the office into the bargain. Slipstream fired back at the green 'copter, forcing Springer to evade, then turned toward the door, searching for a way to escape this new threat. With a start, he came up short, a glimmer of fear in his optics for the first time since Prime had met him.

"_You!_" he hissed, the fear quickly giving way to his rage once more. The shots coming from the doorway had stopped. Loud, thudding footfalls answered Slipstream's outburst, and with something akin to glee Rodimus watched the hulking form of Grimlock shoulder his way through the door frame.

"Yes, me... Grimlock!" the Dinobot commander bellowed, the optics of his tyrannosaur form flashing dangerously. "Me do what Grimlock should have done long time ago. Me Grimlock _burn_!"

Grimlock reared back his head, opened his jaws wide, then lunged forward again, bathing the room in liquid fire. The terrific blast of heat engulfed Slipstream, knocking him from his feet, and for the briefest moment hope flared in Prime's chest that they might just succeed in destroying Slipstream once and for all. A moment later, and that hope was shattered by another of the vampire's deafening screams. Prime watched in disbelief as Slipstream slowly stood up, surrounded by incandescent plasma, his form shimmering through the heat-haze. Slipstream turned to glare at him, his expression of hatred mingled with depthless pain.

Wreathed in fire, blackened with soot and grime, Slipstream snarled defiantly at the Autobots. Even as segments of his armour began to melt, he glared directly at Prime, his blood red optics glowing in the firelight; he looked as though he had come straight from the very deepest circle of the Pit of Unmaking itself. The vampire's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, whispering words meant only for Prime, then in a flurry of twisting parts, he transformed and made his escape through the ruined window. Prime watched him go, feeling deep within his spark that this was far from over... that this was just the beginning.

After what seemed to be an age, Prime issued the order to stand down, and to start the arduous task of repairing the damage that had been done. If Prime was right, and he hoped to Primus that he wasn't, then they wouldn't have long to prepare themselves for whatever Slipstream would do next.

O o O o O

Prime stood in the ruin of his office for hours afterwards, listening distractedly to the bustle of the emergency crews as the worked through the ACC. Prime simply stared out of what was left of his window, watching as the sun rose over Iacon, and running through Slipstream's last words to him. _I'll be back_, he had said. _I will return. And then, you will know pain. You will know fear. You will watch everything you love burn. And then you will die..._

The words shuddered their way through Prime's processor, sending involuntary spasms through his systems in their wake. He couldn't help but think that the vampire had meant every word he had said, that he _believed_ what he had threatened with every fibre of is being; Prime had seen it in his optics, a pure, deep kind of malice that knew no bounds. As Rodimus watched the flame-red fingers of dawnlight creeping across his home, Rodimus felt a hard knot of resolve forming in his chest. Slipstream would be stopped, at any cost.

O o O o O

Slipstream, it transpired, had other plans. Rodimus prowled the corridors of the ACC, barely aware of the rapidly proceeding repairs going on around him, a data-pad clutched firmly in his right hand, a mug of fresh energon in his left. The building had almost returned to its former glory, the traces of the recent attack all but erased. Had Rodimus not been so distracted, he might have felt pleased about the fact, proud even, but for now he had much more important things on his mind.

The pad contained the latest in a series of reports from the local Enforcers office. Haywire, the liaison officer to the Autobots, had just dropped the report into the command centre, and from the haggard expression on his faceplate, the young officer was feeling the strain as much as Prime. This report made thirty-seven; thirty-seven incidents, attacks made by Slipstream on the civilian populace in the space of three weeks. A total of nine had been killed outright, leaving a further twenty-eight in critical condition in the nearby hospital.

The vampire had left a trail of carnage, with no discernible pattern to his attacks. He had restricted himself to Iacon City, but there any similarities between the attacks ended; he had struck in completely random districts, his victims hadn't known each other, and had ranged from factory workers, to office staff, to two members of the Enforcers, and even a lurker from the lowest levels of the undercity sprawl. All of them had been found alone, most appearing to have been hauled bodily down the nearest alleyway so that the vampire could feed.

Rodimus had no clue as to why the ones that had survived had been allowed to live. Maybe Slipstream had been disturbed; that in itself didn't make much sense, as Slipstream was more than capable of taking down anything short of a full tactical squad. There was something missing, a part of the puzzle, and it was driving Rodimus to distraction. He just couldn't bring himself to believe that the sole purpose for the attacks was to sow terror amongst the civilian populace... despite how effectively the attacks had done so.

So distracted was Prime that he barely noticed when he reached his destination. Only when he finally reached Kup's diagnostic bed did he look up, dragged from his thoughts. Rodimus thumbed the pad off and placed it quietly on a nearby work surface, before lowering himself onto the one stool that sat next to the bed. He wasn't sure why he was always so quiet when he visited his friend like this; he knew, logically, that Kup and the other victims were in a kind of intense stasis-lock, and no sound would disturb them, but still it felt wrong to make to much noise.

Prime simply sat with his friend, watching his features for any sign of life, occasionally checking the diagnostic display above the bed as it monitored Kup's vitals, or rifling through the patient's notes that had been left at the foot of the bed. There was no change in Kup's status, but then Rodimus hadn't really expected any. Ratchet had explained the symptoms of one of Slipstream's attacks in length; how Sunstreaker, the vampire's first victim, had taken weeks to come out of his coma-like state. As well as draining his victim's power systems dry of energon, something about Slipstream's altered nature caused a negative-ion feedback that made it difficult for the power cells to hold a fresh charge... if he didn't kill them outright, his victim was incapacitated completely.

A brief jolt of static caught Prime's attention, and with a start he realised that he had been slipping into an impromptu recharge cycle. He looked around for the source of the noise, thinking that one of Ratchet's assistants must be nearby, but he was completely alone. Prime was about to dismiss the sound as a figment of his imagination, when he heard it again; this time, he thought to look down, and was more than a little surprised to see a pair of dimly-lit, sky-blue optics looking back up at him.

"Kup?" Prime whispered, sitting forward slightly, and letting the first smile he had worn in days creep across his faceplate. "Can you hear me?"

Another low growl of white noise was the only reply, followed a few moments later by a painfully slow movement of the head; a fraction of an inch, no more, but the nod was the confirmation that Rodimus needed. Kup tried to speak again, the formless hiss escaping his vocaliser barely starting to make the shapes of a word, and Prime simply motioned for his old friend to stop.

"Don't," he said, still keeping his voice low, "save your strength. You had us worried, old friend; you had me worried." A quirk at the corner of Kup's mouth, the faintest ghost of a smile, told Prime that his friend understood him, before Kup's optics once more went dark. Rodimus checked the systems monitor once more, making sure that Kup was simply recharging, before standing and making his way toward Ratchet's office. For the first time in weeks, he felt a glimmer of hope.

O o O o O

Slipstream wasn't alone, but for once he didn't begrudge the company. He sat on top of a tall, rusting spire in one of the factory districts that nestled against Iacon's southern habitats, watching the city lights in the distance. Around him, perched along verdigris riddled crenelations and clinging to crumbling, dilapidated walls, a small flock of feral cyber-hawks had gathered to roost, cawing loudly and adding to the run-down, haunted feel of the building. On some level, the creatures appeared to have adopted the vampire as one of their own, and the idea both amused and sickened Slipstream in equal measure.

The vampire shifted his weight slightly, getting more comfortable, and in response the nearest cyber-hawks flared their wings and hissed irritably, before settling down once more. Below and around him, the factory sector sat forgotten and neglected, ravaged by the passage of time, its decay in stark contrast to the jewel-bright city beyond. Every so often distant, clanking echoes could be heard amongst the various buildings, either caused by settling debris, or half-active maintenance drones, still trying to perform duties older even than the birds that now claimed the area as home. Slipstream ignored them all, too deep in thought to pay them much attention.

His plans were so close to fruition. The board was set, the pieces in place... soon, he would begin the greatest game of them all. Slipstream had chosen this place to be the centre of his plan. He had chosen this tower in particular for two reasons. The first was the commanding view of his first intended target. If he struck at Iacon, the capital city of all of Cybertron, he could tear the heart out of the Autobot forces in one fell swoop; after that, the planet would be easy pickings.

The second reason for his current perch was a large set of communications antennae, protruding like some weird, metallic plant from the peak of the tower. He had taken great pains to make sure the systems were working, before patching his own communications equipment into the relay. Once activated, he would be able to broadcast to any point in the city, with only a small chance that Prime and his lackeys would be able to locate the source of the signal. Everything was set; now, he could begin.

Slipstream powered down his optics, and brought the communications array on-line. Concentrating on his targets, he opened a narrow-beam transmission, one that would be difficult to spot, let alone trace. Once he was sure that he was connected, that his targets would hear him clearly, he began to broadcast a simple, one-word message...

_...Now..._

* * *

Author's Notes: I offer my humblest apologies for the length of time this has taken to write. I've had a lot on my plate, with work and life, not to mention a nightmare writer's block that has been almost literally killing me. If you're still reading this, after all this time, I thank you from the bottom of my heart... and then beg of your patience for a little while longer. At best, this has another two or three chapters, and an epilogue, to go. With any luck, it won't take me too much longer...

Thanks for reading, all reviews welcome.


	9. The Harrowing

Slipstream: Resurrection

Chapter Eight

The Harrowing

Kup was glad to be back at work. It had been three days since he had finally come out of stasis lock. Three days of being prodded, probed and tested. Three days of constant questions, constant debriefings, constant 'how are you?'s and 'how are you feeling?'s from his friends and colleagues. Everyone was treading on proverbial eggshells around him, as though waiting for some inevitable breakdown. Even Ratchet, normally better known for his lack of a bedside manner, had been positively _gentle _with the veteran. And while a part of Kup was glad to know that they all cared, that he had real friends looking out for him, a big part of him wished they would all just stop.

So he was glad to be back at work. Not because he felt well enough to do it, or because he was enjoying it, but because he needed everyone to _believe_ he was fine, to believe that there was nothing wrong. If the questions stopped, he hoped, then maybe he could ignore just how very _wrong_ he felt; he could maybe start to look past the fact that, after literally thousands of mega-cycles of warfare against some of the most terrifying creatures in the universe, he was actually afraid...

The damning truth was, he was more than afraid. For the first time, he had come across an enemy that petrified him on a personal level, one that had brought him down, shown him just how very weak and vulnerable he was, how insignificant, and had then cast him aside with next to no effort. He hadn't even been able to hurt Slipstream in return. Every night since, he had been reliving the attack in his dreams, seeing the sickening ease with which the vampire had cut down his fellow Autobots, heard his mocking tones as he told them all how worthless they were while he proved the point as violently as possible. And every morning, he had snapped out of recharge with the image of those damned red optics still dancing in his vision. Scariest of all, though, he had started hearing Slipstream's voice in his waking moments too.

It had started that morning, as Kup had sat down for breakfast before starting his shift. The mess hall was all but deserted, with just the last of the night shift winding down before heading back to their berths. Kup was glad of the quiet, and sat down with a mug of energon in the corner of the room furthest from the door, flicking on a data-pad full of service reports and starting to read. For a brief moment in time, everything felt normal.

He didn't hear the sound at first; he was only really aware of it as a kind of scratching sensation at the back of his mind, the kind of feeling where you think you've forgotten something, but can't remember for the life of you what it might be. Kup paid attention to the sensation for a few moments, but couldn't think of anything he might have missed that morning, and so decided to ignore it. The feeling didn't go away, though, as he had hoped. Instead it started to shift, crawling around amongst the shadowed corners of Kup's neural processor, scratching, whispering, growing steadily more insistent, until eventually Kup slammed the half-read pad down on the table in a burst of frustration.

His neural net seemed to be buzzing with static now, and in moments the feeling grew to painful proportions. Kup felt nauseous, like he'd had too much high-grade the previous night. His head felt like it was going to split clean down the middle, and with a low groan Kup reached up to hold the sides of his faceplate. His vision swam, before starting to sporadically flicker on- and off-line. The green mech was just starting to think that he should comm Ratchet and tell him what was going on, when the feeling finally burst into sound; a single, whispered word, in a voice that he knew all too well.

_Now_, it said. It was _his _voice, Slipstream's voice, those same sardonic, hateful tones. And then it was gone.

An instant later, and it felt as though a great weight had lifted from Kup's shoulders. The pain stopped, and the background sound stopped right alongside it. Kup looked up, surveying the mess hall, as a slight feeling of being watched passed over him; the room was empty, though, and after a moment that feeling passed as well. Kup knew then and there that he should report the event to someone. Ratchet might be able to diagnose why he was suddenly hearing voices, Kup knew that logically; at the same time, though, he might just tell him it was all in his head, and then sign him off of active duty. The idea sent a shudder through Kup's entire superstructure.

So he had kept it quiet. Later that day, when the sound returned, he ignored it rather than reporting it. He hoped beyond hope that it was just a glitch, that his own systems would right themselves and he wouldn't have to say anything. But it didn't stop. Instead, the noise became an almost subliminal constant, stubbornly curling into the corners of his psyche, and digging ice-cold claws into his thoughts. Before long, Kup found himself becoming distracted, and increasingly unable to function.

In a meeting with Rodimus Prime and Ultra Magnus, he twice had to ask one of them to repeat a point they had made, because he had missed it entirely. As the meeting had come to a close, and Ultra Magnus had left the office, Rodimus had pulled Kup to one side and asked him if he was feeling well; Kup had told him half of the truth, that he was just a little tired, and had promised his friend that he would visit the medical wing after his shift.

By the time his lunch break had arrived, Kup was feeling the strain. The constant whispering in his head was driving him to distraction. Twice now he had heard Slipstream's ghostly voice calling to him, and he had reached the point where he was starting to jump at the slightest thing; sitting in a corner of the mess hall, he found himself nearly spinning around at every scrape of a chair, or the clatter of plates and energon containers. The noise of his colleagues joined with the cacophony inside his head, whirling together until he couldn't make out one from the other.

A hard shove from his left broke Kup from his reverie, and he immediately spun to face the culprit. A rush of fury was coursing through his systems, without any real cause, but Kup couldn't bring himself to care. Facing him, a chair in one hand and a tray of energon cubes stacked precariously in the other, was Swoop. Kup had been so distracted that he hadn't even noticed the Dinobots entering the room, let alone that they had taken up situe at the table next to his own. The gangly flyer had noticed his mistake, and was starting to apologise; he had nearly tripped, and fallen against Kup's table quite by accident.

Kup wasn't listening. The rushing of his own energon in his conduits, and the now angry hiss of the voice in his head, drowned everything else out. Taking Swoop by surprise, he stood, and pushed the youngest Dinobot hard in the chest, sending him staggering backward into his team mates. Grimlock and the others stood at once, anger clear on their features, but Kup was no longer paying any attention to them. He had turned to face the worried stares of his colleagues, his own expression filled with a rage that none of them had seen before.

"What are you all staring at?" the veteran bellowed, causing the Autobots nearest him to flinch away from him. "Why can't you all just leave me alone?"

"Hey, Kup, why don't you just calm down?" a nearby voice asked, but Kup was now so far gone that he didn't even register who was speaking. He turned vaguely toward the direction the voice had come from, before reaching down and gripping the edge of his table.

"_Leave me the frak ALONE_!" With a furious roar, Kup upended the table, hurling it into a knot of nearby mechs, before storming for the exit. Anyone that didn't get out of the way fast enough was shoved roughly aside, and then he was gone. His exit left the whole room shaken, and virtually silent in shock.

"Primus, Swoop," Sideswipe, who had been on the far side of the room from the ruckus, finally said. "What the Pit did you say to him?"

O o O o O

Kup walked as fast as he could without breaking out into a run. His systems were overheating, and try as he might, he couldn't seem to get his air intakes to take in enough air. His head was swimming, overloaded with conflicting signals and seemingly random static. The pain was unbearable, but worse still was the realisation of what he had just done. Swoop had done nothing wrong, none of them had, and yet Kup had been so... _angry_. No, that wasn't quite right. Anger wasn't anywhere near strong enough a description for what was coursing through him. It was rage. Fury. And it was deeper than he had ever known, or even thought possible.

Through the haze that was suffocating him, Kup was dimly aware that he was heading toward the medical wing. That was good; he would damn his own pride, and get some help. He needed help, he needed _something_, but he didn't know what. He could feel something beginning to gnaw away at his insides, some undefined need; the new sensation scared him, and he hurried forward, more desperate than ever to get help.

Before he could get more than a few paces, a searing pain ripped through his midsection. It came from nowhere, and caught him so unaware that Kup instantly doubled over, almost dropping to his knees. The corridor seemed to be doing somersaults. Kup fought the impulse to purge his intake systems, and staggered to his left, crashing through a door into a small storage room. It was dark, and cool, and amongst the over-stacked shelves of equipment he couldn't identify, Kup for a moment felt safe, something he hadn't felt in three days.

Another sharp pain ripped through him, followed by another wave of nausea. As Kup finally lost the battle against his rebelling systems, and succumbed to the encroaching darkness that was now pressing in on his consciousness, he briefly wondered what he had ever done to deserve this...

O o O o O

Ratchet was on the warpath. A few of the mechs that had been in the mess hall for Kup's outburst had told the CMO about the event, and now he was trying to find the veteran in question. The trouble was, no-one had seen him since lunch, and that had been more than two hours ago. Kup hadn't turned up for the second half of his shift, wasn't responding to any forms of communication, and even Central, the main computer system for the ACC, was unable to find him. Fearing that something might have happened to his patient, Ratchet was now searching the halls manually, a large part of his medical team and a group of other volunteers in tow.

Sideswipe had been the first to mention Kup's disappearance. He and his twin had been passing the main medical bay on their way to one of the ACC's training centres, and swung by to see how Kup was getting on. Ratchet's first inclination was to ignore the pair... it wouldn't be the first time Sunny and Sides had sent him off on a wild sump-rat chase, looking for a patient who was in fact fit and well, just so they could raid his stores, or some other such nuisance. But the twins insisted that they were telling the truth, and just as Sunstreaker looked like he was ready to start shouting that they _were_ telling the truth, Blurr arrived, also asking after Kup.

By the time Swoop, followed by Trailbreaker and Cosmos, walked through his door, each asking after the missing tactical officer, Ratchet was going frantic. Kup had been through a massive amount of trauma, a point that he knew at least the twins could understand fully, and now it looked as though there had been a problem that Ratchet had missed. After a sensor sweep told Ratchet that Kup was missing, and the computer confirmed that he hadn't left by any of the main exits, the CMO rallied his troops and began the search in earnest. Of course, if Kup turned out to be fine, Ratchet would see to it personally that he didn't leave the med-bay for a month...

"_First Aid to Ratchet_." The comm-unit that Ratchet carried crackled into life, almost making the medic jump. He activated the unit, and acknowledged his assistant.

"What is it?" he asked, sounding harassed. "Did you find him?"

"_Not yet, boss_," came the reply. "_Just wanted you to know that I called my brothers in to help out, and Hot Spot put a call in to the other gestalts; the extra bodies should speed up the search some. Any luck your end?_"

"None at all," Ratchet growled, trying hard not to snap. "Keep me posted. Ratchet out."

The white-and-red medic accessed his internal locator, and found that he was about halfway between the medical wing and the mess hall. The corridor was deserted, and Ratchet couldn't hear anything. He had decided to check these sections personally on a hunch; he knew deep down that Kup was a sensible mech, and might have been making his way to see Ratchet when he fell of the grid... Ratchet wasn't sure if it made sense, but it was all he had to go on. He was just about to start out again, when a small sound caught his attention.

It sounded like something scraping along one of the walls, and after a few moments Ratchet realised that it was coming from inside a maintenance locker. The doorways to the small storage rooms were designed to be as unobtrusive as possible, an aesthetic quirk of whoever had rebuilt this place; few mechs even noticed them. Had he not heard the sound, Ratchet might not have thought of it himself. Ratchet stepped forward, and slowly opened the door, not wanting to startle whoever was inside.

His first impression was of darkness. The only source of light in the room was the now open doorway. As Ratchet's optics adjusted, and more of the small space came into focus, he let out a small gasp. The place had been trashed; shelf units were overturned, the supplies they had held scattered across the floor. In short, it looked like a small war had erupted in the closet. Then he saw the one thing he least wanted to see: sitting in a corner, half covered with a shelf unit and with his back to the door, was the shivering form of Kup.

"Kup," Ratchet said, breaking the silence. "We've been looking for you everywhere." Kup barely moved, just turning his head slightly toward the sound of Ratchet's voice.

"Come on," Ratchet tried again, taking a step toward his colleague. "I'm taking you down to the med-bay for a full work-up. Kup? Can you even hear me?" There was no response, so Ratchet stepped closer, placing one hand on Kup's shoulder, and starting to call his name again.

Kup's response caught the CMO completely by surprise. Ratchet was only briefly aware of sudden movement, a flash of bright red optics, and an instant later he felt like he'd been hit by a train. He flew clear of the supply room door, and landed hard, sprawled across the floor of the corridor outside, with his head and shoulders propped against the opposite wall. From his prostrate position, he could see the glow of Kup's optics, still in that completely wrong colour, glaring at him. A low hiss made it's way across the space between them, and then Kup charged.

Ratchet barely made it out of the way in time. He rolled hard to his right, immediately scrabbling to get back to his feet. Scant inches from him, he heard a powerful impact against the wall as Kup cleared the width of the corridor in one bound. Rising as fast as he could, Ratchet spun around, bringing his fist around in a short, sharp arc, and it was with some small satisfaction that he felt the blow make contact. He didn't know what was up with his old friend, but he _really _didn't appreciate being attacked. He looked down at Kup, ready to reprimand him for acting crazy, then stopped short.

What he saw wasn't Kup any more. It held the same chassis shape, the same colour, the same Autobot sigil emblazoned on its chest. But there, the similarity ended. Parts of the armour seemed to have shifted, like wax that had been heated then allowed to cool. Kup's faceplate showed this the worst, with parts of the left side melted almost all of the way through, so that Ratchet could clearly make out Kup's denta, even though his mouth was closed. And his optics... where once they had been the bright, clear blue so common amongst the Autobots, now they were a bright, violent crimson. No, he wasn't Kup any more, and with a sickening jolt Ratchet had an idea as to why...

All of this took a second. The not-Kup opened its jaws wide, loosing a deep, feline hiss, and brandishing the one thing Ratchet needed to confirm his worst fears; thin, razor-sharp fangs. Ratchet had seen this once before. Slipstream had been unique, a freak of nature. Now, it looked like he wasn't alone. Somehow, by some means Ratchet didn't even want to think about, he had turned Kup, one of the most decent Autobots Ratchet knew, into... into an abomination. Into something like _him_. Ratchet tensed, waiting for the not-Kup to strike. The attack never came. Instead, the creature turned on its heels, and ran. It sped away from the medic with frightening speed, heading to Primus knew where.

"Ratchet to Prime," the medic all but yelled, snapping on his comm-unit and opening every frequency he could. "Ratchet to all Autobots. We have an intruder on level five, heading for j-section. Be advised: target is extremely dangerous, and shows similar abilities to Slipstream."

"Ratchet, please confirm," came Rodimus Prime's clipped tones over the link. "If it's not Slipstream, then who in the Pit is it?"

"Prime," Ratchet began, shaking slightly as the gravity of the situation began to hit home, "you're not going to believe this. I'm not sure I believe it myself..."

O o O o O

It had to escape. It had to be free, it _needed_ to be free, outside, elsewhere... _the call_. The call told it where to go. The call told it not to feed, that time was important, that it could feed later. There would be prey, lots of prey, too much prey...

There was prey here. It could stop, feed, slake its thirst in warm energon torn from... _no_. The call said no. The call said run. Run. Freedom. Escape. Hide. It must obey the call, it _must_, but it was so hard, so very hard when they were so close, and so many, and so _fresh_...

Obedience. It must obey. The call had made it, set it free, made it strong. It didn't know what it was, nor did it care. It had no name, no designation, no thought, only purpose, only _hunger_ deep-endless-powerful-feed-must-feed-had-to-feed-_NO_... it must obey, no matter the cost.

It sensed things. Freedom was close. Open space. Frightened voices, frightened faces, frightened of _it_. The sound of water, the sound of footsteps, the sounds and feel of breaking glass. And then freedom. Escape. Running, running without feeling tired, so fast, so powerful. The call had made it strong, it knew that, and it knew the call must be obeyed. The voice that made the call was speaking to it, telling it where to go. And so it ran, ran with all its might, and ignored the prey it craved so much...

O o O o O

Rodimus Prime stood in the centre of the atrium, looking at the carnage that his old friend had wrought. From the descriptions he had been given, it was obvious that Kup was no more. That Slipstream had played one more cruel trick on his former allies, and turned one of their own into a vampire, or something like it. He had already sent word to every place where Slipstream had left other living victims; if one of them had been corrupted, it stood to reason that more of them might have been affected.

Looking at the damage, seeing the cracked pillar where Kup had simply thrown aside one of the guards when they had tried to stop him, seeing the broken glass and cracked tiles where he had jumped from an office window two stories up and out into the atrium, and more broken glass where he had made his escape, Prime felt a thrill of fear pass through him. He felt small, all of a sudden, and ill equipped to deal with this new threat. One vampire-mech was bad enough... but potentially a small army of them?

Prime surveyed the damage his friend had done, and couldn't help but think that they might not survive that kind of war...

* * *

Author's Notes: Well, here it is, another instalment. Sorry about the wait; hopefully the last couple of segments will take less time to complete.

This has been a fun one to write. Detailing Kup's transformation, and the 'pure instinct' approach to his/its thoughts as he ran from the ACC has made for a nice change of pace, that's for certain. I just hope you folks like it.

All reviews welcome, as ever. I'd love to know what y'all think.


	10. The Edge of Fear

Slipstream: Resurrection

Chapter Nine

The Edge of Fear

Gearframe was tired, but he couldn't stop. If he stopped running, he was dead. His servos whined from the effort of keeping him moving, his air intakes were virtually screaming with the strain of trying to keep his internal systems cool enough to function. He had nearly run himself clean into stasis-lock, pain tore through his systems with each wild step, but still he couldn't stop. For the first time in his life, he actually regretted not having a faster alternate form... anything to help get away from _them_ would have been a blessing from Primus himself.

Around him and behind him, the shadows moved. The creatures had been chasing Gearframe for nearly an hour, toying with him, herding him with animal snarls and occasional lightning-fast strikes that had left the architect battered and dented, but still able to run. Slowly, enjoying the chase, the creatures herded their prey toward the deepest parts of Iacon's underbelly. Whenever he looked like he was slowing, his steps beginning to falter, one or two of them would get closer, planting lightning fast blows or loosing peals of high pitched, jeering laughter. They pushed him ever onward, enjoying the hunt, the end now so close that they could taste it...

Gearframe rounded a corner into a dark alleyway, his footplates skidding on the damp floor, sending him careening into a stack of abandoned crates. He regained his footing as quickly as possible, but it wasn't fast enough. A heavy impact threw him forwards, sending the mech careening forward into a patch of light from a nearby glow-lamp, before he fell, sprawling across the floor in an undignified heap. With a groan, Gearframe forced himself to look up, to get moving again. In the shadows around him, dozens of red optics shone back at his own, making his energon flow run cold.

Where Gearframe's fear had been driving him forward, now it paralysed him. He could only watch in mute horror as one of the pairs of optics began to step forward. As the creature stepped into the light, Gearframe gasped. Its bright orange armour looked as though it had been melted in places, and sections had fallen away completely, displaying the servos and endo-skeleton beneath. A red symbol identified the beast as an Autobot; the vile, animal instinct that wore the mech's face was anything but. The monster glared at its prey, regarding Gearframe with its head cocked to one side.

Gearframe opened his mouth, about to start begging for his release, for his _life_, but never got the chance. The creature, which appeared to be leading the others, moved forward suddenly with a massive burst of speed, and kicked out savagely at Gearframe's prostrate form. The blow caught him beneath his right arm, and lifted him bodily from the ground, throwing him against the nearest alley wall. Before Gearframe had finished sliding to the floor, he felt a vice-like grip closing around his throat, lifting him up and bringing him faceplate to faceplate with his attacker. He could do nothing but stare into those depthless, crimson optics, and listen in horror as the creature hissed the last words he would ever hear...

_You were already dead..._

O o O o O

Slipstream walked alone, his footsteps echoing through the cavernous expanse of the main factory floor. Dust-shrouded machinery and observation walkways spread in every direction, forming labyrinthine corridors that threw the sound back at the vampire in odd ways; the effect, he found, was rather pleasing. This place would be the birthplace for his new empire. Even now, his drones were working to re-activate the great machines, which in aeons past had created Cybertronians in their thousands. He would bring them back to life, and give them a new, glorious purpose... the thought of it sent shivers of expectation through Slipstream's frame, and brought a thin smile of delight to his features. The plan was beautiful, flawless even. Nothing would stand in his way.

A dull _thunk_ reached his audio receptors, echoing through the confines of the factory from its deepest recesses. Looking about himself, Slipstream could see the source of the sound before he heard its effects; the generator was finally on-line. As the echoes of the louder sound of the plasma drive coming on-line began to fade, and as the low whine of power relays began to fill the vast room, Slipstream watched the steady flow of energon as it coursed through the factory systems. His enhanced vision superimposed a fine, silvery spider web over everything, letting him see the flow of power as clear as day, and below it all, in the depths of the complex, the bright, sunlight glow of the generators themselves.

_Yes_, he thought to himself, the smile widening to a grin, _it will be beautiful indeed..._

O o O o O

The attacks had been going on for over a week. Every night, a handful more victims were killed or taken, every night the Autobots failed to stem the virulent tide that was taking over Iacon City. And every night, the Cybertronian people lost just a little more faith in the Autobots and their protection. As fear tightened its hold on the sparks of everyone around him, and everyone in turn began to look to him for aid and guidance, Rodimus Prime found himself beginning to feel overwhelmed. He hadn't said as much out loud, but in all truth he wasn't sure he had any answers to give.

He stood alone in his office, staring out of the window, lost in thought. The most recent reports from his own forces and those of the Enforcers were terrifying, to say the least; whatever resources were thrown at the problem of Slipstream's growing army, nothing they did seemed to be enough. It wasn't just the civilians that were being affected, either. Whenever the Autobot patrols managed to find one or more of the creatures, they almost always came off worse. A few of the monsters had been captured, and were now being held in the brig below the ACC. But for every one that was captured or wounded, two more seemed to be taking their place.

A dark scowl crossed Prime's features at that thought... one of those damned by Slipstream's vampirism was his best friend. There had been no sign of Kup at all, and the thought disturbed the Autobot commander deeply. Had Slipstream killed him out of spite? Had he been amongst the few creatures that the Autobots had been forced to kill? Worse, how many had he been forced to kill himself? Magnus and Ratchet had tried to tell Prime that Kup was already a casualty, that until they figured out a way to undo the effects of Slipstream's nano-virus, there was nothing more that could be done. That did nothing to stop Prime feeling angry about the fact. A sound caught Prime's attention, and he turned just in time to see Ultra Magnus entering the room.

"More reports," the soldier said simply, sliding a data-pad onto Prime's desk before looking up at his commander. "It's not good. We've lost eight civilians, and three more Autobots."

"Who?" Prime asked quietly, his features a mask of pain.

"Highbrow, Air Raid and Groove," came the grim reply. "By luck or design, that son of a glitch has managed to take two whole gestalts out of commission in one move. Hot Spot and Silverbolt are beside themselves, not to mention the rest of their teams. We've still got Computron if it comes to it, but there's still the question of what'll happen if Slipstream manages to infect him in his combined state... will they all turn vampire, or just the one that's bitten?"

Prime turned back to the window, fighting down the urge to scream in frustration. After a few moments, he locked optics with Magnus' reflection, and asked, "Please tell me there's some good news." The reflection actually managed a small smile.

"I think I might be able to help you there," Magnus said, as Prime turned to face him once more. "Intel spotted something in the Enforcer's incident reports this morning, a pattern of sorts. After almost every attack, eyewitness reports say that the vampires leave the attacks in the same general direction."

"You think they're heading to the same place?" Prime asked, moving to his desk and picking up the pad. "Or do you think it's just a coincidence?"

"It might just be a coincidence," Magnus conceded, shrugging slowly. "Or even even just a collection of misinformation. But if this is at all accurate..."

"Then they might just be heading home to their father," Prime finished the thought. "Where do they seem to be heading?"

"May I?" Ultra Magnus motioned toward the controls on Rodimus' desk, and with a nod of consent he punched in a few commands. Instants later a holographic image of Iacon sprang into life. A few more keystrokes, and the image began to grow, moving in to show the factory districts on the outskirts of the city.

"Here," Magnus said simply, waving toward the centre of the map. "This is the only place they can be going; we've looked everywhere else along this course. These factories have been out of action since just after the first Great War... the only reason they're still there is that the Council deemed them to be of historical significance, and left them standing."

"What did the factories produce?" Prime asked hesitantly, already knowing that he wouldn't like the answer.

"That's where we get back to bad news," Magnus said, closing down the map. "Most of the factories produced weapons and equipment for the war. But one of them, one of the largest, used to produce mechs and drones."

"Primus, _no_," Prime whispered, falling into his chair. "He would be there... he has to be. If he can get that place back on-line, and somehow infect the production line, he'll be able to..." Prime let the thought hang in the air, unwilling to voice the horror that he knew would follow such an eventuality. He could feel a new anger beginning to build inside him, as the full import of Slipstream's plan hit him. Slowly, he stood once more, and looked up at Magnus. Recognising the fire in Prime's optics, Ultra Magnus unconsciously stepped back, standing to attention.

"Rally the troops," Prime said, a steely edge of conviction in his voice. "All of them. We've got to hit that place, hard, with everything we can bring to bear. Meet in the staging bay in two hours."

With a smart salute and a crisp _"Yes, Sir," _Ultra Magnus left the room with hurried steps. Prime took one last look out of the window, at the gleaming spires and bright lights beyond. He wouldn't allow the nightmare continue. He would stop Slipstream, or die trying. Turning away from the vista before him, Prime left to find Ratchet and Wheeljack.

O o O o O

He found the pair of them having a heated discussion in Wheeljack's lab. Ever since Kup's transformation, Ratchet had been working on a way to undo the change wrought on Slipstream's victims. He had found the source of the change; Slipstream had somehow converted the nano-mech technology he had stolen into a kind of virus, one which altered his victims on almost every level, leaving them as a twisted parody of his own condition. Ratchet also believed that the damage could be undone, either with a kind of 'nano-vaccine', or else by reprogramming the existing nanites and making them undo the damage they had already caused.

The trouble was facilitating those effects, which is where Wheeljack had come into the equation. He had immediately gone to work, and had quickly pulled in the rest of the sciences and medical staff to help. Before long, both sections had been whipped into a frenzy of activity, inter-departmental channels buzzing with activity. Now, Prime just needed to know if they had reached a point where they had something he could use; if his fears were realised, they would need every piece of help they could get.

"...And to do that, we'd need to disable them with a low-level ionic pulse," Wheeljack was saying, gesturing excitedly to get his point across. "If we just cross-wire the sub-particulate matter converter in my new beam cannon, and add a neo-dynamic positron relay, it'll be easier than disarming a sparkling!"

"Yes," Ratchet countered acerbically, "and the ensuing blast would disarm our own troops at best, or level the surrounding area at worst! We need to find a way of accessing the nanites' control matrix without performing the equivalent of using a tactical nuke to wipe out a sump-rat. Now, if you'd just _listen_ for a change, instead of sounding off like a sonic screwdriver on the glitch... Prime! We didn't see you there."

"I take it things are not going well?" Prime said, holding back half a smile as his two shame-faced colleagues turned to face him. Ratchet simply shook his head in response.

"I'm sorry, Rodimus," he said, the tension seeming to drain from his body in a subconscious sign of defeat. "Everything we've tried has only had marginal success. The main problem is, Slipstream has altered his virus beyond anything we've seen before. It adapts far faster than anything we've been able to throw at it. We'll get there, of that there's no doubt, but not for some time yet."

"Keep trying," Rodimus said, only a hint of his frustration showing. "Until then, it just looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way..."

O o O o O

The factory systems were finally approaching full power. Slipstream could almost feel the bass thrum of energon pulsing through the building's power feeds and machinery, just beyond hearing, like a hint of some vast heartbeat. There was a faint tang of ozone about the air, and Slipstream found himself occasionally stopping to savour the aroma, closing his optics and drawing deep intakes. It was like a heady perfume to him; to him, it smelt like power, tasted like destiny. Soon, Cybertron would be reborn in his image, and he would become a dark god to rival Unicron himself...

His children, his first-born of many, had gathered in the central production area of the factory, standing around him in small groups. None strayed too close, out of either fear or respect, and the mixed stares of equal parts awe and adoration they periodically shot in his direction gave him new delight. Whenever he returned their gaze, they would lower their optics ground-ward, subservient to a fault. They had been remade in his image, but still they new him to be their superior... their _master_.

Slipstream had called them all together to witness this moment. The future began here, at his hand, and he wanted witnesses to this most portentous of moments. He stood on a slightly raised platform in the centre of the massive chamber, one of the factory's central control monitors at its centre. The device's panelling had been removed, layed out carefully around him, and the inner workings and cables of the monitor had been partially removed from their casings. Slipstream gave his drones one last look, turning slowly to face them all in turn, before turning his attention on the console.

Slowly dropping to his knees, Slipstream took one of the cable bundles in his hands and raised it slowly to his lips. With an air of careful grace, he opened his jaw, his fangs extending with a faint _click_, then with equal care he bit down on the tubing. Closing his optics down, relishing the moment, he could feel the nano-viral caches in his fangs emptying, the deadly payload seeping into the mechanical systems of the building. It would take a few hours for the virus to fully infiltrate the system, and a few more to complete the changes he had planned... but to his mind, Slipstream fancied he could already hear something in the sounds of this place, something subtly different. Finished, he let go, and sat back on his haunches, allowing himself a quiet, sinister smile.

"Now, it begins..."

* * *

Author's notes: Yes, this has been a very long time coming. And yes, it's not particularly action packed. Rest assured, faithful reader, that I fully plan on making up for that next chapter... it is going to be the finale, after all!

Thanks for reading. Any and all comments are very much welcome.


	11. Into The Beast's Lair

Slipstream: Resurrection

Chapter Ten

Into The Beast's Lair

The moment was almost here, he could feel it. Every sensory receptor was singing with excitement, he could feel his spark pounding a rapid tattoo within its casing. His neural processor was practically buzzing, as thoughts and dreams and hopes poured through it in an almost maddening torrent. His time had come, his ascension was nigh... and for Slipstream, the moment couldn't come soon enough. Ever since the idea had first been spawned deep within his processor, it haunted his every waking thought. An army of drones, more powerful than himself but completely slaved to his will; such a force would be unstoppable. He would crush all before him, and lead his new army to heights untold. And along the path, he would finally have revenge on the world that had abandoned him.

Slipstream stood in the central gallery of the factory, surrounded by – yet separate from – his minions. He watched, his excitement obvious but unvoiced, as the system readouts on the display panel before him showed the last of his modifications taking place. Not long now, a mere matter of minutes, and his plan could be put into action. In turn, Slipstream's creations watched him with predatory interest from the shadowed corners of the room. They could sense his excitement, and they knew that for them, it would soon mean they would be able to sate their thirst with more prey than ever before. They also sensed that to disturb their master would be a poor idea at best, suicidal at worst. So it was that, as one of their number, one of the smaller drones, attempted that exact feat, their interest turned to something much darker, in anticipation of seeing Slipstream angered.

"This had better be good," Slipstream snapped, turning his crimson optics on the creature, annoyed that anyone would dare disturb his moment. Cowed by his ire, the creature stooped almost to the floor, croaking something unintelligible about a problem of some sort. Growing angrier by the second, Slipstream aimed a savage kick at his offspring, sending the runt sprawling across the floor. "Speak up!" he hissed, stepping down from his platform. Before the creature could respond, a dull rumble filled the room, followed by another. The sound was followed by the unmistakeable sound of low-flying jets... the factory had just been hit by a missile strike, which could only mean one thing.

"The Autobots," the creature confirmed for Slipstream a moment later, as it dragged itself to its feet. "They are here, in great numbers." The creature's optics were regarding Slipstream with something like hope; it apparently believed that it would be rewarded for bringing this news to its master. Those same optics widened in terror a split second later as, with a howl of rage, Slipstream grabbed it by the throat with both hands, lifting it clean from the floor. A sickening _crunch_ echoed around the room, followed by the sounds of the creature's body crashing to the ground, followed quickly by its head. As more explosions began to sound outside the factory walls, Slipstream raised his head and loosed a long, wailing scream, pouring all of his anger into the sound. Around the chamber, the offspring of the beast cowered against the wall, unsure for a moment if they were safest here, or outside with the foe.

"Destroy them," he roared at his children, his jets whining as he lifted himself into the air. "Destroy them all! Nothing gets into this building. _Nothing!_" As the vampires began to mobilise, Slipstream quickly dropped once more onto the control dais. With rapid movements, he punched a series of commands into the data lectern, before launching once more into the air, heading for the exit, and the Autobot troops that he knew would be waiting there. Around him, with the grinding of massive gears, and the hum and crackle of charging power cells, the factory began to come to life...

O o O o O

"_Here they come!_"

Rodimus Prime wasn't sure who had yelled the warning, but he immediately sent out a comms message telling his forces to be ready. The many Autobot icons on his tactical display blinked once in acknowledgement, and a second later a series of red 'unknown hostiles' icons began to fill his view. Looking up, Prime could make out Slipstream's forces leaving the heavily fortified factory. Some took to the air, moving to counter Silverbolt and his team as they continued to attack the building from above. The rest were moving at high speed, heading straight for the Autobot ground forces.

Prime began to issue orders to those soldiers nearest him, but was cut off by the thunderous report of heavy weapons fire, as Warpath and two other tank-types, Hardhead and Shatterblast, opened fire on the vampire lines. Plasma bolts and concussion shells ripped into the advancing horde, throwing several bodily into the air and scattering their fellows. Prime watched for a moment, distracted, to see what effect the attacks had... he wasn't too surprised to see the vampire drones simply pick themselves off, shake off any damage they had sustained, and continue their advance. Rodimus redirected his attention once more to his own forces.

"Keep firing!" he yelled to the tanks. "All fast units, transform, form up, and prepare to outflank the main advance. Everyone else, open fire as soon as they get in range. Springer, get everyone that can fly airborne, and take the fight to the enemy. Silverbolt is going to need all the help he can get!" Rodimus watched as his orders were carried out, and couldn't help but feel a small thrill of pride as he watched the speed and efficiency with which his troops did so. For a moment, he felt like nothing could beat them...

O o O o O

"Let's show these freaks what we're made of!" Sunstreaker yelled to his brother, his engine howling its own battle-cry as he thundered toward the enemy. Not far behind him, an identically shaped, bright red Lamborghini revved his own engine in response. The twins were at the head of the outflanking elements, leading a group of eighteen of the fastest Autobots. Their job was to pull as many of the enemy out of position as possible, allowing Prime to lead his own charge into the heart of the enemy forces.

"I think they've had a similar idea, bro," came Sideswipe's sarcastic reply, "so let's not give 'em the chance. Break left, Sunny, I'll go right."

On cue, the units behind the twins split into their assigned groups, each accelerating to full speed. As they approached the enemy, some of the creatures turned, moving to face this new threat. Those Autobots with weapons mounted on their vehicle forms opened fire, keeping the enemy from reacting too quickly. Hurling themselves forward, pushing engine and chassis to the extreme, both roaring with a mixture of fury and excitement, the twins and their units speared into the vampires' ranks, driving into the heart of the formation with almost wild abandon.

Sunstreaker ran down two of the creatures, before forcing himself into a controlled drift, crashing side on with three more of the foe. Before they were even clear of his body, he was beginning to transform, his chassis twisting and contorting with lightning speed, and propelling the golden warrior upward, allowing him to launch a rising kick to yet another opponent. As he landed, and began searching for a new foe, he took a quick note of the shape of the battlefield. Sideswipe was nearby, elbow deep in 'mechferatu', as the red twin had started dubbing these creatures; he was holding his own, so Sunny allowed his focus to shift. Here, he caught the distorted outline of Blurr, as the young mech lived up to his name, laying into the creatures at a speed even few of them could match; there, Cliffjumper and Bumblebee were fighting back to back, each covering the other as the vampire-mechs approached.

Sunstreaker almost let himself become distracted as the maelstrom of battle whirled around him. He found it exhilarating, the wild dance of war... and this very nearly led to him joining the fallen. A heavy impact threw him to the ground, and it took all of the warrior's training to recover fast enough to not be caught off guard a second time. The creature that had surprised him was crouching, ready to spring forward and press its advantage, when the sound of a horn blaring nearby made it look up. Sunny followed its gaze, and was pleased to see the source of the sound; the main Autobot offensive had arrived, and at their head, a blue-and-white car hauler and a fire-red Winnebago were barrelling toward them at full speed.

Rodimus Prime crashed into the vampire, sending it flying backwards into a knot of its companions. A moment later, and both he and Ultra Magnus were up and fighting in their robot forms; Magnus, a veritable god of war, lashing out with fist and foot in a storm of blows, each touch taking down another foe; Prime, flame motifs blazing in the wan sunlight, living up to every part of his legendary lineage, a hero and leader born. Sunstreaker watched the pair for a moment, allowing the sight of such martial excellence to sing through his energon lines. Grinning, Sunstreaker turned, and rejoined the fight.

O o O o O

Rodimus had a feeling, somewhere deep in his spark, that all of this was merely a distraction. His forces were doing well; his orders to only incapacitate the creatures, to only kill where it couldn't be avoided, hadn't hindered their advance too much, and the list of casualties on his own side was mercifully short. But still, something was bugging him, gnawing at his mind... he just couldn't place what was missing. While thinking on this, he ducked an attack from yet another vampire-thing, coming back up as fast as possible, sending a shattering uppercut into the monster's jaw.

Without warning, an audio-splitting screech rent the air above him, making Prime and his companions look upward, ready to run for cover. Prime scanned the skies, searching for the source of the sound, and a moment later he saw him. Slipstream was in the air almost directly above him, alternating between his robot and jet forms in lightning fast, almost impossible manoeuvres. Everything that came too close was struck down, and Prime couldn't help but think that he was going to need every resource in his arsenal to take the monster down.

As the thought struck home, Slipstream caught sight of him. Prime braced himself for the onslaught that was sure to follow, but none came. Instead, Slipstream simply gave him a knowing smile, then turned tail and flew straight for the factory. Like a jolt of energon to the processor, the missing piece of the puzzle locked into place. The factory was active. If Slipstream had activated it, as Prime feared, then he could be building fresh forces even now... this whole battle was a distraction. Prime looked to Ultra Magnus, and could see that his friend had been struck by a very similar idea.

"Go," the warrior called to Prime, while driving his fist into the faceplate of another opponent. "We'll deal with things out here. You take the fight to Slipstream!"

With a nod, Rodimus handed over command of the main forces to Magnus, and began forcing his way through the morass of combatants toward the factory. It all rested on him now.

O o O o O

Twenty minutes had passed since he had entered the factory. Rodimus had made his way into the network of corridors that laced the upper levels of the factory complex, and was now stalking quietly down a deserted hallway. The floor and walls were thick with dust and grime, a fact that Rodimus was silently glad of; the layer of detritus carpeting the metallic floor muffled his footsteps, and he hoped it would give him an advantage over Slipstream, albeit a small one. A dull, clanking noise echoed in the distance, making Prime stop in his tracks, scanning every last corner, every last shadow, for signs of movement. Nothing became apparent, and after a few tense sparkbeats Prime continued.

He was close, he had to be... he had the same feeling he had felt at the ACC, the feeling of being hunted by something he couldn't see. Prime thought back to what he had read about Optimus Prime's original defeat of Slipstream, of being hunted through the _Ark _by a species of predator unlike anything the world had ever seen... was this how Optimus had felt? Had he felt the same creeping sense of dread that was working its way through Rodimus' processor? Another noise echoed down the hallway, and Rodimus peered through the flickering light, desperately searching for any kind of movement.

The tension was driving Prime to distraction. Deep down, he knew that Slipstream was taunting him, that to the vampire, Prime meant almost nothing. The thought seemed to galvanize something inside Prime's spark. The fear stopped, replaced suddenly by something altogether more aggressive. He was already sick of the feeling of being hunted, of being Slipstream's next prey. He wasn't about to let the sick freak enjoy the control he no doubt believed he had... in short, it was time to change the playing field. If he could make Slipstream come to him, force the vampire to lose hold of the initiative and make a mistake, he might just stand a chance.

"_Slipstream!_" he roared, amplifying his vocaliser to maximum gain, so loud that dust motes fell from the ceiling in a swirl of pale grey snow. "Enough of your games. Come out and face me, if you've got the bearings for a straight fight!"

Silence reigned supreme. As Prime's voice finally echoed into obscurity, he noticed that he could just make out the sounds of battle, far below. Prime briefly allowed himself to wonder how his friends were doing, if any of them had fallen, if they were winning the fight... He pushed the thought from his mind, and concentrated on his goal. He had to make Slipstream come to him, rather than face him on the vampire's terms. He called out, again and again, pushing and goading Slipstream with every taunt and jibe he could think of, but got no response. Eventually, it hit him, the one thing he hadn't yet tried...

"You never would have beaten Optimus, you know."

The response was almost immediate. Deep, sepulchral laughter coiled from the shadows; not the response Rodimus had hoped for, perhaps, but it was still progress. Prime tensed, awaiting the almost inevitable burst of frenzied violence that he had come to expect from his adversary. Much to his surprise, the laughter slowly faded away, but no attack materialised. Instead, Slipstream began to speak.

"Optimus probably would have been proud. You are quite the reckless hero," he said, his tone conversational, polite even, with just a hint of sarcasm hidden amongst the eloquent notes. "Very clever, you know, trying to provoke me... very brave. I assume you hope I'll make a mistake you can exploit?"

"Not too much to hope, was it?" Rodimus countered, allowing himself a brief smile, while turning on the spot, searching for the source of the voice.

"Perhaps not," was the quiet reply. "Still, very brave, Rodimus. Foolish, but brave." Silence once more consumed Prime; he couldn't make out any more sound, not even from the battle below... the world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the cataclysm. Eventually, the vampire broke the silence once more.

"Tell me, Prime," Slipstream asked, his voice echoing slightly along the hallway, "do you fear death?"

"No!" was Rodimus' immediate, defiant reply. Whatever this new game was, he decided, he had no desire to play it. "I have nothing to fear!"

"Why not?" Slipstream countered smoothly. "Almost everyone does. Do you have some hope, then, that there is something... _more_. Something other than this life?"

"What do you mean?" Prime asked... he was getting closer, he was sure of it... if he could just keep the vampire talking...

"I mean, Prime," Slipstream sneered, a clear note of derision entering his voice, "that you must have some reason not to fear the end. Is it... _faith_, perhaps? Do you believe, in your spark, that when the time comes and you are finally taken off-line, that you will get to stand before Primus? Will he smile benevolently upon his favoured child, as a thousand clockwork seraphim sing praise? Will you spend blissful eternity, merged with the Eternal Circuit? Perhaps you just believe that you will live on in the Matrix? Or that there is nothing to fear in nothingness itself?

"I only ask," Slipstream continued, his tone becoming harsh, "because I don't know what comes next. You see, I was denied even a proper death. For me there was no heaven, no hell, no sweet oblivion... I was damned to wander the void as nothing more than a wraith. And because of that, I am more powerful than you can know. You think you can defeat me, Prime? That you can stop my plans here today? You can _never_ beat me. You can never win. Because I can never be stopped. You might be right not to fear death, Prime. In the end, I think the only thing you need to fear... _is me_!"

Knowing in his spark what would come next, Prime swung around as fast as he could, bringing his right fist across his chest with all of his strength; Prime just hoped that his aim wasn't off, or his guess wrong. To his gratification, he had been right on both counts. Prime caught Slipstream on the side of the head, throwing him off of his attack, but not hard enough to alter his course. Slipstream crashed into Prime with jarring force, knocking them both to the floor. In seconds, both were up again; this time, desperate to gain an advantage, Prime threw himself at his opponent, using his greater bulk to send himself and the vampire crashing through a partition wall and into an office space beyond.

The brief moment of deja vu that followed ended a second later, as Slipstream twisted around mid-air, kicking Prime with all his strength, adding the force of his jet systems to the impact. Wreathed in a burst of blue-white flames, Prime was launched backward, before crashing through an abandoned work station and sprawling across the floor. He scrambled back to his feet, his damaged joints protesting painfully, and looked up to see Slipstream walking slowly toward him. The vampire's features were a lesson in scorn, his optics filled with hatred.

"You dare to stand in my way?" the monster hissed, his fangs glinting dangerously in the half-light of the shadowed room. "You_ dare _to get in the way of my ascension? You will pay for your insolence!" Prime stepped toward Slipstream, ready to attack, but the vampire was too fast for him. With a graceful, mercurial movement, Slipstream pirouetted to his left, grabbing a large section of the work desk in his right hand as he did so. He completed the spin, bringing the heavy, metallic desk section around and down like a club. Not breaking stride, he reversed direction and drove the section upward, smashing Prime backward against the wall.

"I will tear you apart!" Slipstream roared, battering Prime once more with his impromptu club. "I will make you beg for forgiveness, for everything you and your kind have done to me. And as I rise above the ashes of this pitiful wreck of a world, and you fade into nothing more than an unhappy memory, Cybertron will finally understand what that imbecile Optimus never could: that I can never be defeated, because I am the ultimate evolution of our race!" Again and again, Slipstream rained down blows upon Rodimus, his voice rising into an exultant scream, his optics taking on the wild fervour of true madness. He raised his weapon above his head one last time, ready to finish Prime once and for all, and drove downward with all of his strength.

With one last, colossal surge of strength, calling on every reserve and all but screaming to the Matrix for aid, Prime rose up, intercepting the attack and grabbing hold of the desk section. "If you're what our race is going to evolve into," he growled into the monster's face, angry beyond anything he'd felt before, "then it would be better if we all die now!" He kicked out, forcing Slipstream to let go of the ruined object. Hefting the desk in both hands, he swung it in a wide arc, aiming for the smaller mech's head.

Again, Slipstream reacted too fast, ducking under the wild swing. He sprang forward, jets screaming to full power, and hammered into Prime's midsection. Laughing maniacally, he drove Prime and himself through the wall, and into the room beyond. Gathering momentum, ignoring the repeated punches that Prime threw down onto his back, Slipstream sent them both crashing through another wall, and out into one of the factory's main halls. A rush of heat blasted them both, and the pair were bathed in a hellish glow; reeling from Slipstream's attack, Prime barely registered that they had entered one of the factory's vast smelting chambers. Stunned by the sudden heat, Slipstream cut power to his thrusters, and moments later the pair were hurtling downwards, towards the source of the ruddy light...

* * *

Author's Notes: I can't believe this story has done it to me again. First it goes from seven chapters to ten, now it's gone to eleven and a set of post-scripts! Primus help me, but it's driving me mad...

This was meant to be posted as chapter ten: A Song For Absolution. But after writing out six pages (my average for a chapter), and realising that there's at least five or six more to go, I've decided to split the thing down the middle and post the story finale as two parts. Sorry for the cliffhanger, but it seemed like a good place to leave it. Work proceeds apace on the last segments of this, so look out for an update soon.

Until then, all reviews are welcome. And Shatterblast is mine (in fact, he's one of my characters on Seibertron(dot)com's Heavy Metal War game), in case anyone was wondering.


	12. A Song For Absolution

Slipstream: Resurrection

Chapter Eleven

A Song for Absolution

"All units, fall back on my position, stay in formation where possible. For the love of Primus, keep firing!"

Roaring orders and encouragements to his soldiers, weapons running to white-hot, Ultra Magnus stood at the centre of the remains of the Autobot forces. There were few of the Autobots left now; twenty minutes had passed after Prime had left the field to hunt down Slipstream, twenty minutes of taking the fight to a foe that refused to simply lay down and die, regardless of the damage they had taken. At first, it had seemed as though the Autobots could win this last battle; Prime's orders to incapacitate rather than kill the vampire drones hadn't hampered them too much, and their tactics had seemed to be working. Now, though, it was a different story.

The Autobots had fought their way through the morass of enemies to the vast entrance to the factory, but had found the massive cybertronium doors locked and barred. As the Autobots began to lose momentum, more and more began to fall to Slipstream's forces, while more of the enemy shrugged off their wounds and returned to the fight. Magnus knew that unless they could somehow get into the factory, and rob the drones of the advantage of an open field, then they were surely lost. Deep down, it was a price he was willing to pay; if he could buy time for Prime to finish off the vampire once and for all, then it was worth the cost. Around him, the grim features and hard-set jaws of his comrades told Ultra Magnus that in turn, they would make these twisted creatures pay dearly for every one of them that fell.

As Magnus returned his attention to the battle, his optics momentarily locked with those of one of the mechs nearest him, Scattershot. Magnus didn't know the young scientist very well, let alone any of his team, the Technobots. What he saw there, though, both worried and impressed him. There was a depth of resolve in the youngster's gaze, a look of acceptance that instantly told Magnus just what the gestalt leader had decided. With a brief nod of recognition, Scattershot turned away from the commander, and began yelling orders to his team-mates. Before he could say anything to dissuade Scattershot, Magnus was distracted for a few moments by a fresh wave of enemy reinforcements. The threat dealt with, he turned back just in time to see the last moments of the Technobots' transformation.

Computron rose to his full height, surveying the battlefield for a moment with a keen intelligence that was uncommon amongst his gestalt kin. Almost immediately, the giant mech became the focus of attention for the vampires, and the main bulk of their forces began to direct their fire against him. Ignoring them all, Computron turned his colossal frame to face the factory doors. Digging massive fingers into the framework of the portal, and taking firm hold, the combined Autobot began to pull with all of his considerable might. At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then, with a deafening screech of tearing and buckling metal, the doors were pulled free of their moorings. With a grunt of effort that sounded like a roar to the embattled mechs below, Computron turned and lifted the massive slabs of metal above his head, before hurling them into the enemy ranks, wreaking carnage amongst the vampire forces.

The Technobots had been given express orders to stay out of their gestalt form for as long as possible. The idea of the vampires corrupting a whole, giant mech in one go was too horrifying to consider, especially with Superion and Defensor out of commission. So it was with a rising sense of concern that Magnus watched Computron turn to face the enemy lines once more. He sent a closed-signal message to the Technobots, ordering them to separate, but the message was rebuffed. The giant looked down to Magnus, that sad finality he had seen in Scattershot's gaze now writ large on the giant's features. Computron was famous for over-analysing every eventuality... if he had come to the decision Ultra Magnus now feared, then maybe the Autobots were in worse shape than even he guessed.

"Computron!" Magnus yelled, turning to face the gestalt behemoth. "Stand down at once. That's an order!"

"Computron is unable to comply," came the deep, monolithic reply, the tone one of finality and acceptance. "Autobot chances of survival are only three point one-five percent. A distraction will grant a thirty-two percent increase on those chances. A sacrifice is required."

"Computron, NO!" Magnus yelled, looking desperately for any way to stop the Technobot as he took one giant step forward, followed quickly by another. The giant's mind was set, though, and there would be no getting through to him, short of opening fire on the gestalt mech himself. As the giant took the fight to the vampires, Magnus could only offer a brief, silent prayer to Primus for the brave warrior's sparks, before ordering the retreat into the factory that Computron's sacrifice had bought.

O o O o O

Rodimus Prime awoke to a world of fire and pain. As he came around, and his optics came back on-line, he could feel the incredible heat of the smelting pool below him washing over his body. Everything was bathed in a deep, fiery glow, and as Prime took in his surroundings he came to realise just how lucky he had been. He was laying on a narrow gantry suspended above the pit, and through the gaps in the walkway he could see that he was barely fifty metres above a lake of roiling, plasma-heated metal ore. As he moved, every sensor and system in his body screamed in pain, and Prime found himself fighting the urge to simply slip into a stasis lock, to submit to the encroaching, welcoming dark.

The sound of scraping metal a short distance away snapped Prime back to the here and now. Forcing himself to move, he grit his dental plates and rolled onto his side, pushing himself upward as fast as he could manage. Prime heard more sounds of movement, and turned his head painfully to find the source. Slipstream was close, not more than a few metres distant, and it was with some small satisfaction that Prime noticed that the vampire seemed to be in as bad a state as he was. _The son of a glitch can be hurt_, Prime thought to himself. _That's something, at least_. With a surge of effort, fighting the urge to voice his pain, Prime stood and brought himself into a fighting stance.

Slipstream was up just a moment later. Bringing himself to his full height, which still left the vampire a full head shorter than Prime, Slipstream rolled his shoulder joints once to clear them, then did the same with his neck bearings. Once settled, he relaxed his stance and powered up his optics, levelling a steady gaze at Rodimus. Prime glared back, waiting for his quarry to make the first move, every servo in his body twitching with coiled energy. A mixture of emotions were dancing across Slipstream's features - anger, fear, hatred, contempt – as he regarded Prime. Eventually, just as Rodimus began to feel that the tension would kill him before Slipstream could, Slipstream spoke.

"Why do you fight, Prime?" he hissed, taking one slow, almost languid step forward. "You can't win, you don't _deserve _to defeat me. You're half the mech Optimus was; you aren't worthy of his legacy."

"Why do I fight?" Prime countered. "I fight because it's the right thing to do. I fight because you would destroy everything that is good in this world. I can't let you live, Slipstream."

"Interesting," Slipstream hissed, breaking into a savage grin that was full of pure malice, "I was just thinking something similar about you. You've ceased to amuse me, Rodimus. Now, it's time for you to die."

With a roar that drowned out the noise of the furnace below, Slipstream surged forward, fangs bared and clawed hands outstretched. Prime counter charged, firing his blasters wildly and yelling his own battle-cry. The two collided with massive force, and the fight for Cybertron's very soul began anew.

Prime and Slipstream were a blur of savage movement; thunderous blows and vicious kicks were traded in a hurricane of strikes and counter-strikes, parries and wild lunges. The ringing of metal striking metal sounded across the foundry, matched only by the furious voices of the two warriors, roaring in fury at one another, bitter cries of pure hatred mingling with oaths of righteous vengeance, in a rising tide of clashing sound. They twisted and turned, using what little space the gantry afforded to full effect, loosing weapons where they could, and using brute force to beat one another down in between. Every time Slipstream began to get the upper hand, Rodimus tapped into new depths of strength, letting the Matrix feed him, pushing himself ever harder, desperation fuelling his every move. The maelstrom of combat seemed to last forever to Prime, though in reality it was probably no more than a few minutes.

O o O o O

Taking control of the factory had bought the Autobots more time, but by Ultra Magnus' best estimate, not much. His forces had withdrawn into the building just a short way, using as much cover as they could, but not going too deep; the vampires knew this place better than they did, and to take the fight onto their home territory would be tantamount to suicide. Instead, Magnus had split his remaining forces into fire teams, covering the factory entrance with multiple, overlapping lanes of fire, and forcing the creatures into a bottleneck.

The advantage didn't last long. The animal instinct of the creatures soon gave way to common sense, and the attack faltered; Magnus could only assume that they were now looking for an alternate entrance to the building, in the hope of outflanking the entrenched Autobots. He was standing near the rear of the vast hallway, close to a set of service doors that led onto one of the factory's main production lines and the machinery beyond, when the silence that had descended was finally shattered.

As a series of wailing klaxons split the air, and a nearby beacon began to flash, Magnus immediately began barking orders to his soldiers, while turning on the spot, looking for an attack from any direction. No attack came. Instead, the heavy doors that separated the production line from the main hall began to rise, and the conveyor belt beneath it began to slowly come to life. Backing slowly away, all of his weapons trained on the aperture, Magnus clenched his teeth and waited for whatever new horror Slipstream had left for them. What he saw exiting from the darkness of the production assembly bay beyond the door made the energon freeze in his conduits.

It was huge. A massive, hulking shape rolled down the conveyor, and it was with a mounting sense of horror that Ultra Magnus realised that the thing was crouching... it was already at least as big as he was, and it wasn't even standing at its full height. The thing was brutally built; the strobing amber light of the warning beacon cast odd, dancing shadows along a myriad sharp edges and unnatural, twisted angles, bathing its dull hide in a sickly yellow-grey hue. The conveyor ground to a halt, and before Magnus could gather the wits to move, let alone issue orders, a pair of small, violet optics powered on, and the hulking creature turned its slab-like head to face him. A deep, resonant growl echoed from its vocaliser, and it slowly opened its maw, revealing row after row of glistening, razor-sharp teeth, whilst issuing a low, dangerous hiss.

"_FIRE EVERYTHING!_" Ultra Magnus all but screamed the order, while launching both of his shoulder mounted missiles, and opening fire with his ion rifle. Around him, almost two dozen sets of weaponry opened fire simultaneously, unleashing enough firepower to vaporise almost anything short of a gestalt. The bolts screamed toward their target, bright lances of ravening death filling the air with shrill screams, and striking the target with almost perfect accuracy. On any other day, Magnus would have felt proud of the speed of his warriors' reactions. Today, he didn't have time... because the target was no longer there. Instead, the production line doors were destroyed, along with most of the conveyor system.

With terrifying speed, the creature had unfurled itself, launching itself from its position on the conveyor and across the room in a series of long, sinuous strides. It was so fast that most of the Autobots had only barely seen the creature as it moved. Bumblebee, standing with Hoist and Cliffjumper, didn't see the creature coming at all, until it was standing right next to him. Before he could properly register its appearance, one of its powerful paws had struck him squarely in the face, shattering his jaw and sending him flying backwards, crashing through a knot of pipes and other equipment.

Without stopping, the beast stooped, grabbing Cliffjumper by the ankle and lifting him from his feet, before spinning hard, and using the smaller mech to club Hoist from his feet. It loosed a high, whistling screech, terrifyingly reminiscent of its creator, and then it was on the move once more. Every move it made brought destruction down on the Autobots, who were all but rendered helpless in the face of the creature's power. As the beast slammed through Blurr, and closed with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, Ultra Magnus ordered a full retreat. _Any mechferatu hiding in the factory be damned_, he thought, as he turned and led his surviving forces into the tunnels and corridors of the factory. _I'll take a dozen of them in place of this thing any day_.

O o O o O

Suddenly deprived of its prey, watching as the inferior creatures fled into the hallways of the building like frightened rodents, the beast felt almost cheated. This, in turn, quickly gave rise to a new level of rage, which the beast quickly vented on the nearest fallen Autobot. Discarding the broken shell moments later, it stalked forward, eager to begin the hunt. It's senses, far more powerful than any predator yet to walk the face of Cybertron, were singing with information; it could practically taste the energon running through their conduits, hear the beat of each individual spark as it raced into the cool, dark corridors. A deep, animal growl forming in its vocaliser, the beast plunged after them.

It found and caught the first three with such ease that it was almost pitiful... if its processor had ever been designed to feel such a weak emotion as pity, which it hadn't. Allowing itself a few brief moments to savour the agonized screams of its prey, the beast managed to fight down the instinctual desire to feed. Feeding could come later; for now, these prey-creatures were enemies. Somewhere, at the back of its mind, a small yet insistent voice was telling it to stop the prey before they could harm its master. Nothing could be allowed to do that. A quick search of its surroundings showed a nearby cluster of energon signatures heading away from the beast, toward the heart of the factory. With a snarl, the beast moved onward once more.

It hunted down three more groups of Autobots in the same fashion, when it finally found Ultra Magnus. The creature had been less than stealthy in its approach, and as it rounded a corner and came faceplate to faceplate with the largest prey creature yet, it walked straight into a concentrated stream of fire. Behind the weapons fire, the beast realised that it recognised this enemy; it had been ordering the others. This made it smile... finally, the beast had found an opponent that might give it a real fight. Shrugging off the shots like rainwater, bellowing furiously, the beast ran forward, eating up the distance between Magnus and itself with long, loping strides.

Seeing the speed with which his target was approaching, Ultra Magnus decided that standing where he was would be all but suicidal. Pulling a photon grenade out of subspace and hurling it down the corridor, Magnus turned and ran, ignoring the rain of debris that pattered against his back as he began to run. An idea had been forming in Magnus' mind, a possible way to kill this new abomination before it could be unleashed on Cybertron at large. Now, with the creature so close behind him, the idea blossomed into life. He was near one of the two main smelting rooms within the factory, just two corridors away from the edge of the chamber. Not stopping to look back, Magnus poured on as much speed as he could manage, while pulling another grenade from storage.

Magnus rounded a corner, then another, and found himself facing another cross junction. According to his sensors, the wall facing him was now the nearest entrance to the furnaces. Hurling the grenade ahead of him, not waiting to let it detonate safely, Magnus ran straight at the wall. The creature was just a few feet behind Magnus as, with a hollow _whump_ the grenade collapsed the section of wall. Magnus smashed into the debris, felt the scrape of claws across his back, and then threw himself hard to the left. Howling in pain, Magnus landed hard, barely sliding to a halt before he slid over the edge of the smelting pool.

The creature was not so lucky. It had built up too much momentum, had been too intent on reaching its prey, and simply couldn't stop. Realising its mistake far too late, feeling the sudden wave of deadly, infernal heat, the creature could do nothing but scream in fury as it shot out over the edge of the pool. The scream intensified into one of pain a second later, as the creature hit the molten surface of the pit. Thrashing wildly, howling like one of the damned, the creature slowly descended into the liquid metal, its violet optics glaring accusation and hatred 'til the last.

As the last screams died away, Magnus finally allowed himself a sigh of relief, and collapsed onto his back. Looking up, past a set of observation gantries toward the high vaulted ceiling of the chamber. What he saw there instantly washed away every shred of the sense of victory he had been feeling...

O o O o O

Prime couldn't last forever. After what seemed to be an age of endless fighting, Prime was all but spent, his reserves almost completely used up; he knew in his spark that he was going to die, but he had nothing more to give. It was just a matter of how he died, now, not when, and whether or not he could take Slipstream down with him. Every move bringing a fresh burst of searing agony, tired beyond belief, he swung his right fist at Slipstream in what should have been a shattering cross, attempting to force his opponent back, desperate for any respite. The strike was just a micron too slow, though, and with tireless speed, Slipstream ducked, dropping to the floor. Without stopping, the vampire executed a hand-spring, bringing his body around and driving his legs upward with all of his strength. The kick made contact with Prime just below his chest plate, and launched him backward. The Autobot crashed to the deck, sliding to a halt with his head and shoulders hanging over the gantry edge. Before he could move, Slipstream was on him, leaning heavily on his chest and wrapping his hands around Prime's throat.

"I'm going to make you pay for your insolence, Prime," the vampire roared, madness glowing in his optics. "I'm going to make you beg for mercy, make you scream for forgiveness from me, for having the gall to stand in my way! Scream for me, Prime. Scream me a sweet song for your absolution!"

The world was turning grey for Prime. Almost all of his energy was gone, the pain was incredible, and as Slipstream choked the energon flow to his processor away with unending strength, he found that an odd whistling was filling his audio receptors. A series of minuscule _pops _and_ clicks _warned that if he was allowed to continue, Slipstream would most likely tear Prime's head free of his shoulders before he could strangle him to death. Far away, Prime was only dimly aware of some kind of commotion below, somewhere near the edge of the infernal pool, the heat of which was still scorching his back...

The idea struck home like a bolt of lightning. Prime knew what he had to do, and found that he was past caring about the implications of what had to come next. Before he could think on it properly, before any of what he had just realised could cross his features and warn Slipstream, or he could talk himself out of it, he acted. With the last of his ebbing strength, Prime raised his hands and grabbed hold of the vampire's light frame, before driving upwards with both arms and his right knee. The sudden move had exactly the right effect; Slipstream, with his weight balanced over his victim – all the better to watch the light drain from his eyes – overbalanced and tipped forward. Slipstream fell through the flimsy railing of the walkway, and for a second, he was suspended out over the smelting pool, only Prime's weight keeping him in place.

Slipstream had just enough time to loose a piercing scream, before his momentum carried Prime over the edge with him, and gravity finally took hold. Almost in slow motion, the world turned upside down, and then they were falling, picking up speed, careening uncontrolled toward the furnace below. The world rushed past them, and for the last few seconds of his existence Slipstream found that it wasn't fear that filled his mind, but anger. Not anger that he was about to die for the second time in his life, not anger that all of his plans were crumbling around him, that his rise to power had been halted in its infancy. It was far simpler than any of that... he was angry that, for the second time, he was about to die staring into the damned, blue optics of a Prime...

O o O o O

Ultra Magnus could do nothing but watch in mute horror as the scene above him unfolded. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, as first Slipstream, then Prime, began to fall from the gantry. The vampire screamed, a hideously drawn-out wail of purest hatred mingling with notes of terror and loss, and then they were falling, falling toward their fiery doom, wrapped in a deathly embrace. Ultra Magnus rolled onto his knees, searching frantically for any way to stop his commander's descent, but there was nothing, no way to save Prime. Feeling his spark shudder in his chest, Magnus watched as the two mechs dropped into the pool, instantly disappearing beneath the surface. It was over. Slipstream was dead...and so was Rodimus Prime. Ultra Magnus couldn't believe it. A soft, whispered '_No_' escaped his vocaliser, and he simply slumped, hanging his head in sorrow.

Without warning, a shape broke the surface of the pool, not far from the edge. Glowing from within, his plating twisted almost beyond recognition, Rodimus Prime roared with what seemed to be a mixture of fury and unimaginable pain. He looked like he had come straight from the Pit of Unmaking, an avatar of fiery retribution sent to destroy all who would endanger Cybertron. Broken, lightless optics locked unerringly with Magnus', as Prime began hauling himself toward the pool's edge. Coming to his senses, Magnus moved forward and reached for his friend, ready to help him out of the molten slag.

Prime began to flounder, and Magnus only barely managed to grab hold of Rodimus' arm. Biting back a scream of pain as the super-heated metal scorched his hand, Magnus pulled with all of his strength, and dragged Rodimus to relative safety. Up close, Magnus could see the damage that had been done, and he wondered at how it was possible for Prime to still be alive. Through a rent in the commander's chest plate, a faint, blueish light caught his optics, giving him the answer. It had to have been the Matrix of Leadership, the only object that could have saved Prime.

"It will light our darkest hour," Ultra Magnus breathed, still unable to comprehend what he was seeing. His training took over, and Magnus sent a message to any surviving Autobots, requesting assistance. There was nothing more he could do for Prime, save to pray that either First Aid or Ratchet were still in one piece. As that thought crossed his mind, the last sound he could ever want to hear filled his world.

Slipstream's trademark screech rent the air, and Magnus looked up in time to see the vampire moving slowly toward him. The heat of the furnace was taking its toll; arcs of energon were running over Slipstream's armour, as his altered frame fought to stay whole. Baleful, crimson optics glared at Magnus and Prime as, inch by painful inch, the vampire made his way toward them. Ultra Magnus glared back, a tide of revulsion for the monster before him washing through his spark.

"Won't you ever die, you sorry b..." Ultra Magnus voice was drowned out by the sounds of heavy weapons fire, as Springer led a team of Autobots through the hole Magnus had made in the wall, guns blazing. The torrent of fire, quickly added to by Ultra Magnus, pushed Slipstream back, holding him at bay.

Long moments passed, more and more damage showing on Slipstream's form. Magnus didn't see who fired the killing shot. A single round penetrated Slipstream's chest, piercing his spark chamber. The energon streams crawling across the vampire's body slowed, then stopped. His optics dimmed, then turned dark, and then with slow finality he fell backward, disappearing below the surface for the last time. As he did so, a high, ghostly wail swept across the Autobots, followed by a blinding wave of energy. The wave screamed through the walls and was gone in an instant, and it was with a mixture of surprise and relief that the Autobots found that there had been no ill effects from the strange blast. The beep of a comms unit broke the silence that followed.

"_Ultra Magnus, this is Silverbolt."_ The Aerialbot commander sounded stressed, and confused beyond reason. _"Something weird is going on down here. What was with the light show?"_

"I wish I knew," was Magnus tense reply. "What do you mean by weird, 'Bolt?"

"_Just that,"_ Silverbolt said after a second. _"One minute, we're neck deep in vampire drones, the next this energy wave hits everything. Our guys are untouched, but the drones... the drones have just... stopped. All of them just dropped into stasis lock, sir. Whatever you did, it worked. It's finally over."_

As the comm link closed, Ultra Magnus heaved a sigh of relief. It was over... this whole, Primus-damned nightmare was finally over. The Autobots had won; Rodimus Prime had won. Slipstream was gone, his body destroyed, and Cybertron was once more safe. But looking down at the broken, half-dead form of his friend and commander, Ultra Magnus had to wonder just what price victory had cost them...

* * *

Author's Notes: There, it's finally done. Well, almost... there's still the epilogue to go, but by comparison to this monster, that should be a breeze. I'll leave the closing comments and dedications until then.

Please review! Reviews are wonderful things, and they make the world go 'round (contrary to popular belief, gravity has nothing to do with it!) I'd love to hear what ya think. Thanks for reading!


	13. Epilogue

Slipstream: Resurrection

Epilogue

Part One

Moments of Awakening

Prime didn't know how long he had been like this. His entire existence had been reduced to nearly endless moments of crushing, numbing darkness, and blissfully brief eternities of blinding light and scourging pain. For either whole cycles - or maybe it was merely minutes - the juxtaposition of light and dark was his everything. For the moments when he found himself dimly aware of being awake, and fleeting memories danced at the edges of his consciousness, whispering softly to him of who he was, and why he was there, Prime found that he didn't really know which he preferred. At least the darkness carried no memories...

As time progressed, and the moments of light slowly became more common and less painful, Prime gradually became more aware of his surroundings with each waking period. He quickly found that he was rarely alone. For the most part, Prime had fleeting glimpses of either Ratchet or First Aid adjusting his bed monitors, or checking his vital signs. Once, coming out of an odd, shapeless dream, Prime found himself staring into Ratchet's cool blue optics. The chief medical officer actually offered Rodimus a warm, genuine smile.

"It's good to see you, kid, but you should be sleeping," the medic said in quiet tones, while adjusting the sensor-dampening fields that were keeping Prime sedated and relatively pain-free. "You're damned lucky to be alive. Rest, now." As the world blurred around the edges, the colour bleeding away in slow motion, Prime had just enough time to see the medic's smile fade away, replaced by an expression that told Rodimus that he had come closer to death than he knew.

O o O o O

The next time Prime woke up, he had the feeling that several days had passed. His chassis felt both numb and raw at the same time, and his limbs felt like they were made of stone. From the look of the ceiling, he could tell that he had, at some point, been moved from the main med-bay to one of the observation wards. Slowly, Prime turned his head a little, to get a better idea of his location, and was greeted with the sight of a familiar, blue and white mech sitting just a few feet away. Ultra Magnus was in recharge, his head slumped against his chest plate, his massive frame only barely balanced on his chair. Prime smiled weakly, then powered up his vocaliser.

"H-hey," he tried painfully, his voice barely above a whisper and riddled with static. Focusing, Prime tried again. Magnus' optics slowly flickered to life, and he looked up, smiling as he saw Rodimus awake.

"Hey yourself," he said, leaning closer and tilting his head to one side, meeting Prime's gaze square on. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got the slag kicked out of me," Prime offered, his smile turning slowly into a wry, lopsided grin. "How about you?"

"Much the same," Magnus chuckled. "All things considered, things could have been much worse."

"True." Rodimus shifted slightly, turning a little toward his friend, his demeanour becoming serious. To Ultra Magnus, the young commander looked far older than he actually was, his optics conveying the weight of the last few weeks. "Did... did we get him?" Prime asked, his vocaliser straining slightly. "Slipstream... is he...?"

"It's over, Rodimus," Magnus said, placing a comforting hand on Prime's shoulder. "Slipstream's dead, his forces have all been captured, and it's all because of you. It's done now."

Rodimus slumped back onto the diagnostic bed, and let go a sigh of quiet relief. The tension seemed to just drain away, the lines of his chassis becoming more relaxed than Magnus had seen Rodimus in years... since he had taken up the mantle of Prime, in fact. Magnus was about to continue, to tell Prime about the clean-up operation that was now in effect across Iacon, and the problems involved in that operation, but stopped as he noticed that Prime's optics were flickering. A moment later, and he slipped into full recharge. News could wait, Magnus decided, and so he stood slowly, and headed for the door as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb his sleeping friend.

As Magnus crossed the threshold into the corridor, he turned briefly and allowed himself a smile of approval. _Optimus would have been proud_, he thought to himself, before turning once more and heading back to work. Slipstream may have been gone, but his legacy would take a lot of work yet to exorcise...

* * *

Part Two

A Form of Catharsis

Ultra Magnus stood alone in Rodimus Prime's office, surveying the grim scene before him. Iacon was burning; a sickly pall of smoke blotted out any light from Cybertron's remote star, bathing the city in a greasy, pallid haze. The lights of the city below shone weakly in counterpoint, a set of flickering ghost-lights adrift in a sea of twilit fog. Despite what he had told Prime, the war was far from over. Slipstream had, in the space of just a few weeks, carved a hole in Iacon's collective memory so deep that it would take perhaps centuries to forget the events of the last few weeks. The healing process was going to be long and difficult. The dark, hideous irony of the whole affair was that Slipstream's forces hadn't been the ones to set the fires.

After Slipstream's destruction, and the deactivation of his drones, the surviving Autobots had begun the work of rounding up the creatures and moving them to holding cells at the command centre. As the convoys began moving from the factory district through Iacon, word had begun to spread... the battle was done, and the vampires had been routed. The elation of the masses was like a living thing, running through the streets like wild-fire, preceding the Autobots everywhere the went. But it was to be short lived. The vampires were unconscious, not dead... and they didn't stay in their dormant state for long.

Eight of the monsters woke up as they were being gathered up for transport. They overpowered their guards with some ease, and fled straight for the undercity, the labyrinth of sub levels that made up the foundation of Iacon, just like so many of Cybertron's cities. Ultra Magnus had ordered an immediate round-up operation, and issued a general order to stop any information about the escape being leaked to the general public... in hindsight, it had been a bad move, but at the time Magnus had feared that to drop this new proverbial 'bombshell' onto the fledgling carnival atmosphere sweeping the city would be too much for the populace. He just hoped they could recapture the monsters before their escape became common knowledge.

That didn't come to pass. Two of the drones made straight for the most densely populated parts of the city, apparently intent on causing as much mayhem as possible, rather than hiding and waiting as Magnus had hoped. Twelve civilians were injured before the Autobots could catch up to them, but by the time they did, it was far too late. The people, who had so recently moved from a state of fear to one of jubilation, found themselves tumbling toward panic then outcry in quick succession. Many wanted answers, demanded to know how the Autobots had failed, when the populace had been told of victory. The Autobot hunter team had answered poorly, and one of the younger members had let slip to the increasingly agitated crowd that they had never been meant to learn of the escape...

The response had been both violent and immediate. In minutes, the small scuffle had broken into a sizeable fight, then into a full-scale riot. Within hours, the riot spread; the criminal elements of the under-city took advantage of the distraction to loot the more affluent districts, small cells of Decepticon sympathisers used the opportunity to stir the rabble, and before long the Autobots and the Enforcers were fighting a pitched battle in the streets. Fires were started, the violence escalated, and before long every med-evac unit in the city was swamped with injured mechs.

That had all been just four days ago. The rioting had stopped, though the state of unrest still hung in the air surrounding the city. Fresh fights would break out from time to time, and on occasion the repair teams that the Autobots had tried sending into the city had been attacked. Iacon's people were acting collectively like a wounded animal, refusing to let anyone or anything help it, for fear of being hurt or betrayed further. Ultra Magnus could understand the impulse, and felt a great swell of remorse at the knowledge that he had been part of the cause for this fresh wave of suffering. In the end, he knew, that this was precisely what Slipstream would have wanted. Even in death, the vampire had managed to strike one last blow at his enemies. Magnus just hoped that in venting its anger, Iacon could finally find a form of catharsis.

Ultra Magnus looked down at his hand, and the data-slate that he held there. Support was coming; Perihelion, Altihex and Lexaris states were sending supplies, troops and enforcers to the beleaguered capital city. Magnus was surprised; for the grand city-states of Cybertron, politics rarely moved faster than tectonic plates, and a response as cohesive as this one would have taken far longer to achieve. Optimus Prime would have been elated to see the people of Cybertron finally working as one, even if only for a short time. Rodimus Prime would be both surprised and overjoyed at the news. There was hope for the planet as a whole after all.

Despite the grim vista before him, the thought made Ultra Magnus smile...

* * *

Part Three

A Promise To A Friend

"I don't know if you'll be able to understand any of what I have to say, but I have to say it."

The words echoed around the quiet stretch of hallway, just one of the sections that made up the detention block, deep inside the ACC. The cells in this section only had a handful of occupants, and most of those were either in recharge, or wisely keeping their peace. The only sounds were those of the solitary voice, backed by the near-subliminal hum of half a dozen energy fields and the occasional distant echo of life in other parts of the Command Centre. It was always quiet at this time of the night shift, which was part of the reason the owner of the voice had chosen to come down here so late.

The voice belonged to Rodimus Prime. He stood facing one of the active cells, peering into its depths. The lighting was kept low, in keeping with the shift rotation – something the Autobots had picked up on Earth, and never quite stopped using – and so Prime could not see more than a few feet into the cell. He knew that the cell's inhabitant could hear him, though, because the scraping noise it had been making had abruptly stopped. Rodimus waited patiently for any kind of response, shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other, causing the dim lighting to strike faint reflections on his freshly grafted armour.

If it became common knowledge that he had come down here when he should still be in the medbay, Ratchet would probably flay Prime's chassis all over again. He was still supposed to be convalescing, after all. But this needed to be done, so far as Prime was concerned; he couldn't rest properly until he'd done this. In the cell, the scratching noise had started again, and Prime instantly got the feeling that he was being ignored. Clearing his vocaliser, which was still a little awkward to use and awaiting final adjustments, Rodimus tried speaking again. In the end, he figured, it didn't matter if the creature in the cell understood him, or even if it listened to him... it was just something he needed to say.

"I don't know if any of this will get through," he began again, whilst searching the cell for any sign of movement, "but I had to come down here. As soon as they told me you were one of the survivors, I had to come.

"I don't know if there's anything left of you, old friend, but I have to hope that there is. _We_ have to hope. Ratchet and Wheeljack are working on a cure, a way to undo what Slipstream did to you and the others. They think that they're close, but it'll take time yet. I just wanted you to know... wanted you to know that I won't stop looking for a way to get you back. I promise that on my spark, and on the Matrix. I'll do everything I can for you and the others."

The scraping noise had stopped again, and for a brief moment Rodimus fancied he could see a pair of blood red optics regarding him from the shadows. As he finished making his pledge, and silence once more began to descend on the brig, a low, dangerous hiss snaked its way from the gloom. An instant later, there was a blur of movement inside the cell, followed by a bright flash and a resounding _ker-rack! _of displaced energy, as a pale green shape hurtled into the cell's containment field. The creature within rallied quickly, and dropped into a defensive crouch, snarling loudly at Prime, baring razor-sharp fangs and glaring at him with obvious hatred.

Taking a step backward, Prime took in the twisted, pitiable shape of the creature; it's chassis had warped in seemingly random places, running and splitting like heated wax in sections, and showed poorly healed scars over Primus-knew-what injuries all over its body. Most recently, and perhaps most disturbingly, he could see that the creature had been using its claws on itself, gouging at its chest plate and the Autobot sigil that resided there. Prime could do nothing but watch in mounting horror as the vampire drone threw itself at the cell barrier once more... if Prime didn't leave, there was a chance that the mech would do itself serious harm.

"I'm sorry," Prime whispered, before turning to leave, his features filling with sorrow. "I am so very sorry. Goodbye, Kup."

O o O o O

From the other side of the corridor, remorseful blue optics watched Rodimus Prime leave. As he exited the hallway, they turned their focus onto the now-retreating form of the creature that had once been Kup. Faced at last with what his pride, his _hubris_, had allowed to come to pass, Perceptor could do little more than lay back down on his berth and weep, four bitter words circling his processor.

_What have I done...?_

* * *

Part Four

Stumbling Toward Apotheosis

It had been six months since Slipstream's reign of terror had been stopped in its infancy. Six long months since the riots that had caused so much damage in its wake. Iacon City was finally on the mend, though it still bore the marks of its recent past. It showed in the faces of its people, in the soot marked walls and damaged pathways that still had yet to be repaired. But, where six months ago the city had known only despair, now it carried a sense of hope, albeit a muted one. The damage was being undone, the fear was going away, slowly but surely. Even the cyber-hawks had returned to their roosts...

The people of Iacon had noted the feral creatures' return, and taken it as a good sign. After that, the birds had been paid little attention, just as it had always been. So it was that, when one of them started to act strangely, no-one even noticed... The first one had been just like any other of its kind, cawing and preening and looking just like its flock-mates. One second, it was acting perfectly normally, watching its surroundings with beady, amber optics, preparing to take flight. The next moment, those optics had turned red.

It was just a flicker, a momentary jump in colour, and then it was gone. The cyber-hawk ruffled its flight-vanes as though feeling a sudden chill, then took to the air, screeching loudly to the night. A few minutes passed unremarked, and then another of the birds had the same, momentary change of optic colouration, amber to red, then back again. By the time the third, then fourth, such event had come to pass, the change had started to last a little longer, the change in colour becoming just a little brighter each time, as though the force causing it was gaining strength.

With each new spark touched, the sensation running through the cyber-hawks began to realise that it was aware. It didn't know what it was, or even _why _it was. There was little more than a gnawing instinct to reach as many of these creatures as it could. They were important, somehow. It was as though it knew, without really knowing just _how _it knew, that they contained parts of itself, that at some undefined point in the past, it had hidden fragments of itself here, within their sparks, to find when it felt strong enough.

The awareness grew, slowly, surely, gaining more of itself with every spark that it touched, a wisp of thought, a wraith in the shadows. After a time, it began to find feelings; they weren't yet true memories. It still didn't know its own name, but it knew that once it had owned a name. It sensed things from its past; a feeling of power, of ascension, an abstract vision of _godhood_... it knew that it had been attacked by enemies, that it had been destroyed. At one point, the ghost even encountered the burning sensation that it recognised as part of a memory of that destruction.

As days passed, and the jumbled collection of thoughts and emotions began to coalesce, becoming something more, it finally remembered its own name. And in that same moment, it realised that now was not the time for it to become whole again. It had to be patient, to wait, to subsist as nothing more than the ghost of a memory, hidden in plain sight, until the time was right for it to return. It might take a hundred cycles, a thousand even, but it would once more be able to bring its plans to life.

The world would speak the name Slipstream once more, and tremble before it... but not yet...

* * *

Author's Notes: And here it is at last, the final instalment of Slipstream: Resurrection.

I have to say, it has been hard work in places, but very much worth every minute of it. Revisiting a character like Slipstream has been a hillarious amount of fun in its own right... there's just something about sinking your teeth (pun most definitely intended... stop groaning at the back!) into a really villainous character. And Slipstream is just that; utterly barmy, viscious as all hell, but quite cool while he's at it; though that's just my opinion of the critter. As much fun as this has been, though, I doubt I'll be revisiting him for some time, if at all. There's only so much more I can do with him, after all, and besides that, he's already in someone else's capable hands.

That someone is Lady Shockbox, who can be found on my favourite authors list. Her own sequel to this story and its predecessor is well underway, and is shaping up to be a real riot. It's called Slipstream: Savior, if you fancy giving it a look (though it is rated M, so parental advisories must apply, I guess :) ).

My deepest gratitudes go to all of the regular reviewers for this story; your support has made this venture doubly worthwhile. I'm so glad that Resurrection has been so well recieved, and that so many of you took time out to read and review. I truly hope that you enjoyed this fic as a whole, and look forward to hopefully seeing what you think of any future TF fics I may write.

Lastly, a note to my fanfic sister: Shocks, I officially hand the reigns over to you. He's all yours now, my friend. Have fun!

Thanks again for reading, everyone!

~MyBlueOblivion


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